Jihad
by joykatleen
Summary: The search for a missing teenager leads Gibbs and his team into a culture clash with potentially deadly consequences. Can Gibbs battle a thousand years of history and his own demons to save the girl and punish those who seek her death? Story will eventually be novel-length, and is at the time of initial post about 75% complete.
1. Chapter 1 - Missing

**Jihad - Prologue**

**[Before the Credits Roll]**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

She lay in the dark closet on a nest of blankets and silently prayed. She prayed that she would stay safe. She prayed that Allah would show her a way out of this. She prayed that somehow it would all work out. That she would survive.

She could never have imagined it would come to this. Things had been going so well. She'd managed to have her own life, despite her destiny. Despite what her family wanted for her. Despite what her father demanded of her. Then, without warning, this.

She liked her life. That part of it, anyway. It was fun, going out with her friends, experiencing the world. It was so much more than she could have ever imagined, back home.

When they first arrived here, she'd been so afraid. So many things were new and different. So much freedom to be had. She'd thought at first that she would surely be condemned to jahannam for just being here, so close to so many who violated the Law. But after a while, after she'd started school here, after she'd met girls whose lives weren't ruled by Sharia, things had changed. She couldn't have said when it happened, but it did. She began to understand that these girls her father called harlots were good girls. Most of them, anyway. That there was nothing wicked about them, or about their understanding of God. That there was nothing evil or improper about allowing yourself to be seen by men. That most men were not so easily corrupted that the bare arm of a woman, or a glimpse of dark hair, would cause them to lose their faith. That Purdah was a custom, not a commandment from Allah.

She'd learned to live two lives. At home, around Father, she was the perfect Sharia daughter. She kept quiet, she wore her chador, she learned to care for a family. At school, and whenever she could sneak away, she let her hair out, she wore American clothes, she laughed and enjoyed a world Father would never understand.

Last spring, she'd met a boy. At a football game. They had lunch together, she watched him practice from the bleachers while pretending to study. She snuck out to meet him at the park, at the mall, for ice cream after school. He took her to a movie on base one night, though she was so nervous about getting caught, she hadn't been able to enjoy the show. Over the summer, they snuck out together more often. They went to afternoon matinees, to visit the museums in Washington, all under the guise of school enrichment activities with friends. Female friends, under male adult supervision, she told Father when he asked. They got serious, and she got her first kiss. School started again, they went to the homecoming dance together. Which was when it happened. Turns out, when it all happened.

Father was furious when he caught her trying to sneak back in so many hours after he thought she was in her room. And to catch her in a short shirt, with bare legs, and bare head… he'd – in American terms – freaked out. He'd beaten her, though not nearly as badly as he would have had they been at home, she knew that. Then he'd locked her in her room for a week. She hadn't even been allowed to go to school. She'd eventually convinced him that she had seen the error of her ways, that she had recommitted herself to her faith. He'd let her go back, but made her walk to and from class with her brother. Her younger brother. It was humiliating.

Nonetheless, at least she'd been able to resume her life. A measure of it, anyway. She was far more careful about her choices. She still hung around with her friends, still occasionally slipped away to the mall, made deals with her brother to leave her alone and say nothing to Father.

She'd longed for the day when she'd be able to escape into America, to fully embrace the land and the culture she was growing to love. She'd resigned herself to living out her childhood as a prisoner to her culture, and declaring her freedom as soon as she was of age.

But then, this. This was more than she could handle on her own. She knew that. She just didn't know what to do.

She heard the approach of heavy footsteps and held her breath. The steps paused outside the closet door and she prayed they would pass her by. A moment, then the steps receded. She breathed again. It would be alright. She silently prayed. Allah willing, it would be alright.

When the closet door was suddenly flung open, and the warrior with his barking dog reached for her, she couldn't help it: She screamed.

* * *

**Chapter One - Missing**

* * *

"Gear up, people," Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs called as he jogged down the stairs from the upper level of the squad room at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, a cup of coffee in one hand. It was a beautiful late spring morning in Washington D.C. and the sun was blazing through the skylights above his head. Not for the first time, Gibbs wondered how the architect of this government building had managed to slip that feature past the penny pinchers at the government accounting office.

NCIS was the Navy's law enforcement arm. The civilian agency was tasked with investigating and defeating criminal, terrorist, and foreign intelligence threats to the United States Navy and Marine Corps, wherever they operated, ashore or afloat. To accomplish this, NCIS had agents on bases and ships all over the world. The most elite of these agents were assigned to the Major Case Response Teams, and the best of those teams was housed aboard the Washington Navy Yard under the direction of veteran team leader Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Gibbs and his team – three other agents, a forensic specialist and a medical examiner – handled significant criminal cases affecting Navy interests in the Capitol region. This put them in contact with politicians and government types far more frequently than any of them liked. But it couldn't be helped: Such was the nature of Washington. Like the case he'd just been given by the agency director. Not their usual fare, but when the Secretary of the Navy said 'jump,' even veteran agents tended to ask 'how high?'

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was the first to respond. "What'da we got, Boss? Death and destruction? Foiled terrorist plot? The crime of the century?" Gibbs' second in command sounded ridiculously eager. Things had been slow since they'd closed their most recent case a few days earlier. And even that one had been pretty run-of-the-mill.

DiNozzo was tall, lean and TV-star handsome, a former college jock who hid his intelligence behind a series of constantly shifting personas. There were times when Gibbs thought DiNozzo might have a touch of schizophrenia in him, in a good way. For reasons sometimes job-related and sometimes known only to himself, DiNozzo could range in attitude, action and wardrobe from high-end professional businessman to minimum wage street player, from college professor to high-school class clown. His default persona was that of a skirt-chasing frat boy. It put people at ease and often made them underestimate his abilities, which was usually the point.

This week, it was old-school fed: Dark suit, white shirt, thin dark tie, hair carefully slicked down. But if you looked closely, you'd see that the suit was expertly tailored, and the price tag on his shoes alone was more than the average fed made in a week.

Despite his constantly changing façade, Gibbs knew the real Tony DiNozzo to be quick on his feet both physically and mentally. He was an incredible investigator, often catching things the rest of his team – even Gibbs himself – completely missed. His often unorthodox way of getting people to open up had led to him closing more than his share of the team's cases. The two men had been working together as team leader and second for more than ten years now, and Gibbs could predict what DiNozzo would do in a professional situation to a near 100-percent certainty. For this reason and others, DiNozzo was one of only a few people alive today in which Gibbs placed his full faith and trust.

Unfortunately, DiNozzo was also the type who needed regular infusions of adrenalin to keep his blood flowing. And if he didn't get it from cases, he'd look for excitement elsewhere. Usually at the expense of his teammates' sanity. Gibbs figured this case wasn't going to fit the bill.

"Teenage daughter of a contract instructor at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling didn't come home from school last night," Gibbs announced to his team as he rounded his own desk and pulled open the right hand drawer to retrieve his holstered sidearm. He slipped the holster on over his belt, then adjusted his dark chinos so the weapon sat comfortably. He'd been carrying the Sig Sauer P-228 for so many years, it was as normal a part of his pocket gear as his wallet and keys. Gibbs glanced at his overcoat, lying atop a short bookcase behind his desk, and rejected it. The early-morning drive in had been cold enough for the coat. But as was common this time of year, the temperature had quickly risen to cool and comfortable. His customary sport coat over polo shirt would be plenty. Gibbs patted his breast pocket to be sure he had his glasses, grabbed his backpack and his coffee and started toward the elevator, knowing his team would be in his wake.

"It was only last night that she did not return home?" Ziva David asked. Though she had been on Gibbs' team for more than seven years, she'd become an NCIS special agent less than two years ago. Before that, she'd been a liaison officer for Mossad, the Israeli intelligence agency. The change had come when Ziva was faced with a choice between continuing to obey the questionable orders of her father – the director of Mossad – or proving her loyalty to her adopted county. She'd chosen America. Within a year of cutting off contact with her father, she had become both an agent and an American citizen. At barely 5'7, she was much smaller than the male agents on the team, who all hovered around six feet tall. Though Gibbs could hardly admit that he noticed, her long dark hair, sultry eyes, high cheekbones and beautiful smile were a feast for any red-blooded American male. In the right dress, she looked like she belonged on the runways of Paris or Milan. Today, she was wearing dark pants and a dark blue peasant blouse, her hair up in a ponytail. In that ensemble, she certainly didn't look like a highly-trained interrogator and assassin. But he'd seen her take on a drug-crazed Marine and win, and Gibbs himself had once come up second best in a fight he'd accidentally gotten into with her while she was blind and deaf from the effects of a flash-bang grenade. Thinking of the injury she'd inflicted upon him – and the surgery he'd had to endure to repair the damage – made his knee twitch. Though it had been a couple years before, he still remembered the pain.

"Don't we usually wait a few days before we get involved in searching for missing teenagers?" the final agent on Gibbs' team asked. Timothy McGee was a techno-geek born and bred. He was an MIT graduate who had always seemed more comfortable in the background than on the front lines. Even his wardrobe reflected that: He tended toward plain suits in tan, brown and khaki, white shirts, and when he wore a tie, it was always solids or stripes. Occasionally – like today – he mixed it up with a dark shirt under his tan jacket. McGee's style of dress was plain, inexpensive, durable. Kind of like the man himself.

McGee's experience in the digital world had proved invaluable to the team – and to Gibbs personally – on many cases. In the almost eight years since he'd joined Gibbs' team, McGee had saved them over and over by pulling the proverbial rabbit out of his virtual hat. It was something Gibbs could always count on. Lately, though, McGee had proven himself more than capable in other areas as well. He didn't have the speed and intuition of DiNozzo, or the stealth and fighting ability of David, but Gibbs would take McGee as backup any day. And there was still no one Gibbs trusted more with the gathering of information.

"A minor between the ages of 14 and 17 must be missing a minimum of 72 hours before we will open a case, unless the minor falls into the category of 'critical missing,' or there is evidence of foul play," David quoted the regulation as they stepped onto the elevator.

"Correct, Special Agent David," Gibbs said.

"Is there evidence of foul play?" DiNozzo asked.

"No," Gibbs said.

"Is she a critical missing?" McGee asked. The term was used for people with medical conditions, special needs, or other indicators that they may come to unusual harm on their own.

"Nope," Gibbs said.

"Then why are we opening a case?" David asked.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the main floor to reveal a bearded man in a plain suit blocking the exit.

"Tobias," Gibbs said.

"Jethro," FBI Supervisory Special Agent Tobias Fornell responded. He didn't get out of the way. Gibbs looked him up and down. Fornell had been off the radar for a while, some undercover thing if Gibbs remembered right. He'd grown a full beard for the operation, and while the beard and Fornell's receding hair were still darker than Gibbs' almost total gray, it wouldn't be many more years before the men would be a matching pair. Fornell's suit was off-the-rack, his tie a bright green that was very unusual for him.

"Nice tie," Gibbs said, a touch of sarcasm flavoring his tone. He pushed forward out of the elevator, giving Fornell no choice but to step aside.

"Emily gave me this tie," Fornell said to his back, referring to his almost 11-year-old daughter. "It's silk. She saved up her allowance for two months. Said the color matches my eyes."

"Your eyes are brown," DiNozzo pointed out helpfully as the rest of them moved past him. Fornell ignored him.

"I'm guessing you heard from your director?" he said to Gibbs, following the agents through the doors and out into the spring sun.

"On our way now. You in on this?"

"Observing only. The kid is technically a Navy dependent, which makes it yours. But the father insisted the FBI be involved and my director agreed it was within our charter. Not that we want it. Hence the 'observation' role. Between my director and yours, they decided my excellent working relationship with NCIS made me the best choice to make sure your team was doing it right."

"Meaning you were the only one they were pretty sure I wouldn't shoot," Gibbs said.

"I always knew you secretly spoke bureaucrat," Fornell smiled.

Fornell and Gibbs had known one another a long time. They'd worked together frequently over the years, getting each other in and out of trouble with their respective bosses while generally trying to stay out each other's way. In recent years they'd become friends. Mostly since Fornell married – and then divorced – Gibbs' second ex-wife. Fornell's daughter Emily was the only good thing that had come out of that relationship, and Gibbs was her honorary Godfather. Not actually her Godfather, because their shared ex wouldn't hear of it. But both men knew that if anything ever happened to Fornell, Gibbs would step up.

"Why don't you enlighten my team as to why the FBI would be involved in the less than 18-hour disappearance of a teenager with no evidence of foul play," Gibbs said as they moved toward the staff parking lot and the dozen or more identical dark blue Dodge Chargers the agency used for routine transportation.

"Because she's been gone long enough to cross state lines," Fornell said. "Any suspected kidnapping crossing state lines becomes FBI jurisdiction."

"Washington is only ten miles across," McGee objected. "If she was gone more than 15 minutes she could have crossed state lines."

"Exactly," Fornell said, as if that meant something.

"Do we suspect a kidnapping?" Ziva asked.

"No," Fornell said. Ziva frowned her confusion.

"So why are either one of our agencies involved?" McGee asked.

"Because her father's got some sway," Gibbs said.

"And we live to serve," DiNozzo added.

They stopped at their assigned vehicle and Gibbs unlocked the doors. They dumped their gear in the trunk before DiNozzo took his chosen and rightful place in the front passenger seat, and the two younger agents got in the rear. Gibbs looked over the roof where Fornell was still standing.

"You have the address of the house?" Gibbs asked him.

"Yes," the FBI man said.

"We'll meet you there."

Fornell actually grinned. "You know Gibbs, they could drive themselves, and we could stop for coffee on the way."

"Already got coffee," Gibbs said and got into the driver's seat. He slammed the door shut on Fornell's smile, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"So what do we know, Boss?" DiNozzo asked a minute later as they merged into morning traffic.

"Summary's in your email," Gibbs said. Almost as one, his three agents pulled out smartphones and started tapping. Ziva was fastest.

"Amaya Aziz, just turned 16. A senior at the International Day School in the District."

"Isn't that where the President's girls go?" McGee asked, still working his phone.

"And the CNO's kids, and SecNav's grandkids, and SecDef's grandkids, and the children and grandchildren of a couple dozen diplomats and federal agency directors," DiNozzo supplied. "You can't throw a spitball without hitting a protection detail over there."

"Where were they yesterday when the girl disappeared?" Ziva asked.

"All details were contacted by Metro PD, and none reported anything unusual," Gibbs said. It had been part of his briefing in the director's office. "Every agency with a protectee attending the school declined to get involved unless a credible threat to their principal was identified."

DiNozzo put on the voice of a stadium announcer. "And the pass goes to NCIS, who carries it downfield, dodging left, rolling right..."

Gibbs reached over and delivered a light smack to the back of DiNozzo's head, not an easy maneuver in the car. But he'd had lots of practice.

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said, clearly unrepentant.

"Ziva," Gibbs said.

"She gets a car service to and from school," David continued. "The driver reported she did not appear at the normal meeting spot yesterday afternoon. She and her brother usually walk to the car together. He arrived, she did not."

McGee picked it up. "She's reported to be an excellent student, no disciplinary problems, not so much as a tardy since she started attending Sophomore year. Excellent attendance, never missed a day for her first two years, absent a week last fall and one day last week. She's on the intramural girls soccer team, plays cello in the school orchestra, takes piano lessons after school from the music teacher. Few friends, reported to be quiet and kind of shy."

"The shy quiet ones are the ones you really have to keep an eye on," DiNozzo said from the passenger seat.

"You have anything valuable to add?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo hid a grin.

"She's an Afghani citizen," DiNozzo said. "The family's been here almost three years. Father was a teacher at Kandahar University before the Taliban fell. He was hired by the Department of Defense to teach courses in culture and language to Afghanistan-bound Officers at the Naval College at Anacostia-Bolling. Two other children, a son Yameen who's a freshman at the same school, and a daughter Sadiyah, age seven, who's homeschooled. The brother claims the last time he saw Amaya was when he dropped her off at class after lunch."

"Dropped her off? Didn't you say he was younger?" Gibbs asked.

"He's 13," DiNozzo confirmed. Huh, Gibbs thought.

Ziva stepped in again. "Metro Police did a preliminary investigation last night in response to several calls from her father. They told the family that with no signs of foul play, they would not start a full investigation on an unaccounted for 16-year-old until she was missing 72 hours."

"Which brings us back to the question: Why are we starting an investigation?" DiNozzo asked.

"Because we live to serve," Gibbs repeated DiNozzo's earlier words.

* * *

to be continued...

Hello again, old friends. Welcome new ones.

There it is, the first section of my new novel. It's not quite finished yet, but it's getting there. Nonetheless, I wanted to give those of you who've been following my work a little gift for the holidays. The plan is to post a new chapter every four or five days. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing. And remember, feedback keeps the muse happy. Post early and post often!

Meanwhile, Merry Christmas!


	2. Chapter 2 - Meeting the Family

**Chapter Two: Meeting the Family**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs pulled the Charger to a stop in front of a red-brick townhouse in the Naval Officers' section of Summerfield Military Housing. As a paid contractor for the Navy, Aziz and his family were entitled to accommodations either on base or in nearby housing. Since the Naval College was temporary duty for thousands of sailors annually, it featured only student dormitories. Summerfield, located in Landover, Maryland, about 10 miles up the Parkway from the base, was the closest facility with officer housing. It was a testament to the sway the elder Aziz must have that the family had been given space in one of the limited number of larger officer quarters, and not one of the more plentiful enlisted units.

The townhouse was deep and narrow, three stories high. An inset balcony was on the third floor, which was otherwise mostly windows. Probably the master suite. The front yard was tiny, barely enough room for a patch of grass, but it was neat and well tended.

Fornell's Crown Victoria pulled in behind them and he got out. The five federal agents met on the sidewalk in front of the house.

"How you want to play this?" Fornell asked.

"You're here to observe, Fornell," Gibbs said. "So observe." Fornell grinned.

Gibbs took the lead as they approached the house and rang the bell. After a moment, the door was answered by a small woman in a floor-length dark-blue garment that covered her entirely, except for bloodshot eyes surrounded by a rectangle of light olive skin. She was clearly an observant Muslim who followed the strictures of Sharia Law. Gibbs wondered if the missing girl would be dressed the same. It'd make her pretty easy to spot at the mall.

"Special Agent Gibbs, Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Gibbs said. He held up his badge, flipping it to show his photo ID card. She nodded and stepped back, silently beckoning them to follow. Gibbs noticed even the skin of her hands was hidden by long dark gloves that disappeared into her sleeves.

They stepped into the house and found themselves in a small foyer. The woman gestured again and they moved further toward the back of the house. Past the stairs to the upper floors, past a moderately-sized kitchen, and into a living room / dining room combination that spanned the back of the house. A man was sitting in a wicker lounge chair in one corner, apparently waiting for them. He was also traditionally dressed in a loose-fitting off-white linen shirt that reached his knees, a pair of matching loose pants, a flowing dark tan vest, and a white turban-like head covering.

"Do you have news of my daughter?" the man said as soon as they entered. The woman faded out of sight.

"No, sir," Gibbs said. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs, from NCIS. This is my team, Special Agents DiNozzo, McGee, and David, and FBI Agent Fornell. We're investigating her disappearance."

The man nodded. "I am Liban Aziz. Please, sit."

There weren't enough seats for all five of them. McGee and DiNozzo sat on a couch designed for three, Ziva took a small side chair, and Gibbs and Fornell remained standing.

Once they were settled, and had declined the man's offer of coffee or tea, DiNozzo took him through the preliminaries: the family history and circumstances of the girl's disappearance that they already knew. He then asked when and where Amaya was last seen.

"She was in her afternoon classes, but she did not appear at her piano lesson after school," Aziz said. "She was not there when my son Yameen arrived to pick her up after her lesson." His accent was very thick, but his English was perfect. He had obviously been speaking the language for many years.

"Does your son always pick her up?" McGee asked. "Or was this something unusual?"

There was a second's delay, then: "Yes, he does. Always."

"Why?" DiNozzo asked. He'd heard the delay, but wasn't sure what it was about. Aziz frowned, like the question was strange to him.

"Because it is proper. Classes at my daughter's school are not segregated by gender. In the classroom, the teacher ensures decorum is followed. Between classes, when boys and girls are not as closely monitored, it is only proper that a male relative accompany a young woman, as it is whenever she is in public."

"So he walks with her from class to class?" McGee asked.

"That is correct," Aziz answered. McGee nodded, like he completely understood.

"Does she have a boyfriend?" DiNozzo asked.

"No," Aziz stated with certainty.

"Has she had any trouble with anyone at school? Boys or girls?"

"No," he said again, insistent. "She stays away from trouble. She goes to school, she comes home. She has music lessons after school twice a week. She plays games with her classmates. Other than that, she spends her time studying."

"Every night? She never goes out with her friends?" McGee asked.

"She has no time for friends," he said. "We are not wealthy people, and the International Day School is very expensive. She must maintain her academic standing to be certain of continuing to receive her scholarship funding."

"Has she ever cut class or missed school without permission before?" DiNozzo asked.

"Never. She has perfect attendance. Both of my children do."

"What do you think happened to Amaya?" DiNozzo asked.

"Someone must have forced her to leave campus. It is the only way she would have gone."

"Mr. Aziz," Gibbs spoke for the first time since the introductions. "I'm sure you're aware that the children of many high-ranking government officials attend The International Day School, and that they all have protection details. Armed bodyguards."

"Of course," Aziz said. "I consider it a very safe environment for that reason."

"But that's the problem," DiNozzo said. "None of the agents and officers involved in protecting those children saw anything out of the ordinary yesterday. There were no strangers on campus, no one acting suspiciously."

"Then it must have been someone who belonged there. Is it not true that children are stolen by people who know them every day in this country?"

"It does happen," DiNozzo agreed. "And we'll speak to everyone at the school. But when teenagers disappear, with no signs of foul play as in this case, we usually first look to see if she might have gone somewhere with her friends. Do you know who she liked to talk with outside of class? Who she ate lunch with?"

"She always has lunch with my son," Aziz said. "As I have explained, she does not have time outside of class to spend with anyone."

"What about online friends? Does she spend time on the internet?" McGee asked. Aziz shook his head.

"She does not have access to the internet at home, and at school all computer use is strictly monitored."

"Where does she study?" McGee followed up.

"In her room," Aziz said, though it was clear he didn't understand why it mattered.

"What about when she needs to do research, for a project or presentation? You said she doesn't have internet access here."

"She and Yameen go to the library on base when she needs to."

"Has she been doing that a lot lately?" DiNozzo asked.

"Yes," Aziz said. "End of term assignments are coming up. She goes several evenings a week, and often on the weekends. But Yameen always accompanies her."

"Does she have a cell phone?" DiNozzo asked.

"No. She has no use for one. Please, believe me," Aziz said, and his voice broke. "Someone has stolen my daughter. You must find her."

"We'll do our best," Gibbs said.

"She is my heart," Aziz said. "She would not have run off without telling anyone. Without telling her mother."

"Can we speak with her mother?" DiNozzo asked. Aziz shook his head dismissively.

"That is not necessary. We discussed it, and my wife does not know anything of what might have happened to my daughter." DiNozzo glanced at Gibbs, who gave him a 'let it go' sign.

"What about your son? Can we talk to him?" DiNozzo asked.

"Yes. He is at school. I will tell them you have my permission to speak with him."

"And your other daughter?" DiNozzo asked. "She is homeschooled, I understand?"

"Yes. My wife teaches her."

"May we speak with her?" DiNozzo asked.

"There is no need. She is just a little girl. She knows nothing."

Again, a glance at Gibbs told them to let it go. For now.

"Is there anything else you can think of that might give us an idea of where to begin?" Gibbs asked.

"No. She is a good girl. There is no reason she would have left on her own. Someone took her."

"Fair enough. Do you have a recent picture of her we can borrow?" Gibbs asked. They had all noticed the walls were sparsely decorated, with none of the photographs of family that usually adorned a home in America.

"Of course." Aziz stood and moved down the hall. There was the sound of small squeaks from the stairs over their heads, and a moment later, Aziz's heavier footfalls climbing. The agents waited in silence. Several minutes later, he returned with a two inch by three inch photograph. He looked at it for a long moment before handing it to Gibbs.

Gibbs glanced down at the photo. It was a school head shot, the kind every educational institution in America took and sold every fall. It showed a serious-looking girl, her light olive face appearing younger than her stated age, but her dark eyes much older. They had clearly seen more than a girl her age should have. A dark green cloth covered her head and neck, leaving only her facial features exposed. A hijab, maybe? Whatever it was called, wearing it at school would certainly make her stand out among her peers, and likely set her up for a certain amount of teasing and bullying. She was probably lucky they weren't from a more fundamentalist sect: Her father might have made her wear a Burqa. On the other hand, if they'd been fundamentalist, he probably would have left the children behind in Afghanistan. He certainly wouldn't be arranging for a high-class education for his eldest daughter.

"Will that do?" Aziz asked on seeing the scrutiny Gibbs was giving the photo. "It was from last fall."

"It'll do fine. Thank you," Gibbs said. He tucked the photo into his notebook and put the book away. He pulled out a business card. "If you hear anything, please give me a call." He handed Aziz his card.

"I will. Do you think there will be a request for ransom? Maybe whoever took her thinks she is the child of someone wealthy."

"There's no reason to think that." Fornell added his voice to the conversation. "Despite what you think, it's not likely Amaya is in any danger. She'll probably turn up in a few hours with a big apology, begging your forgiveness."

"You do not know my daughter," Aziz said firmly. "She would not do this."

Gibbs gave a quick nod. "We'll be in touch.

They stood and turned back toward the front of the house. The woman who had shown them in stepped out of the kitchen and escorted them back to the front door. She did not speak to them.

Back at the car, they paused beside the Charger.

"You were awfully quiet in there, Officer David," Fornell said, using her former title.

"Special Agent David," Ziva corrected. "Or have you not heard?"

"He's heard," Gibbs said. "And he's right."

"Mr. Aziz would not have been comfortable answering questions from a female," Ziva said in answer to Gibbs' unspoken question.

"And what gave you that idea, Special Agent David?" Fornell asked.

"The wife," Gibbs said.

"His wife," Ziva agreed.

"Pashtun?" Gibbs asked.

"Probably."

"And for those of us who've never worked at the United Nations?" DiNozzo said. Ziva turned to look his way.

"In his culture, women are possessions, first of their fathers, and then of their husbands. It is traditional law going back centuries. If I had spoken to him, he would have felt insulted, like we did not respect him."

"I wouldn't think that would stop you from talking to a suspect," Fornell said.

"He is not a suspect," Ziva said. "Yet."

"Yet," Gibbs agreed.

"That's why he never called Amaya by name," McGee said. "It was always, 'my daughter'."

"And, 'my wife' and 'my son'," Ziva agreed. "As the father and husband, he is the undisputed head of the family. He called his son by name, but he would likely not think to refer to the females by their given names, especially in front of unknown males. The girls are his property, his chattel, until they are married off to become the property of their husbands."

"He can't do that here," McGee objected.

"He's not from here," DiNozzo reminded him. "And he teaches Islamic culture. Makes sense he'd be living it."

"So where does that get us?" Gibbs asked.

"His opinion of what might have happened to Amaya is filtered through his belief that she would never think of defying him," Ziva said.

"I agree," Gibbs said.

"Because of that, he does not believe it is possible that she could have left voluntarily," Ziva said.

"She's 16, living in America, and he doesn't think she has a boyfriend," DiNozzo said. "He's living in Islamic fantasy land. Hey!" He turned suddenly to Ziva, rubbing at a spot on his head.

"What?" she asked.

"You hit me."

"I did not," Ziva said, and turned back to the conversation. "Hey!" she said a second later, and spun back toward DiNozzo in a defensive posture. "You hit me."

"No I didn't," DiNozzo objected.

"Why don't you see what the girl wants," Gibbs said as something hit the hood of the car with a small thud.

"What girl?" DiNozzo asked. Another impact, this time louder against the windshield. DiNozzo, David, and McGee all ducked. The object slid down the glass and landed against the wiper.

"The one you're taking fire from," Gibbs said with a barely concealed grin. He reached for the windshield and picked up a small candy wrapped in silver foil. A Hershey kiss. He held it between his index finger and thumb to show them, then tossed his head toward the house. They all turned and looked up as a little girl in a pink sweatshirt with short dark hair threw another candy at them from the second story window below the balcony. It hit McGee in the head on the opposite side of the car.

"She's got a good arm," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded. He unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth.

Seeing she had their attention, the little girl ducked back inside for a second, then reappeared with what looked like a small white ball. She wound up and threw it hard. It sailed over DiNozzo's head and Gibbs snatched it out of the air. The little girl disappeared and the window slid shut.

"What is it?" DiNozzo asked.

Not answering immediately, Gibbs examined the object. It wasn't actually a ball. It was lined paper, wrapped around something and tied with a piece of thick white string in a bow. A shoelace, it looked like. He glanced at the house, at the many windows covered with curtains that could easily be hiding a watcher.

"I think we should take this inside," Gibbs said. The NCIS agents got into their car. Gibbs lowered the driver's window so Fornell could lean on the sill.

Gibbs carefully untied the shoelace and opened the bundle. The paper was wrapped around a handful more of the chocolate kisses. He set the candies in one of the Charger's cup holders and smoothed out the paper. It was actually two pages, both almost filled with a child's overly large, careful handwriting in pink marker. He scanned the words on the first page, then smiled.

"Apparently, the younger sister's a little precocious," Gibbs said. "She must have been on the stairs while we were talking."

"What's it say?" DiNozzo asked, trying to read it from the passenger seat. Gibbs handed it to him and DiNozzo read it aloud.

" 'Dear FBI.' Guess she's talking to you, Fornell," DiNozzo read. When Gibbs gave him a look, he continued. " 'I heard you talking about my sister Amy. I'm worried about her. I don't want her to get in trouble again. Father doesn't know everything, even though he thinks he does. He says she doesn't have a cell phone. But she does'." DiNozzo paused.

"She gave us the number," he said, and continued. " 'She goes by Amy Amaya when she's online. That's her Facebook name, too'."

DiNozzo paused again. "She probably has a smartphone and uses it to access the 'net."

"Read," Gibbs said.

" 'Father doesn't know she bought the phone. She has a boyfriend too. But Father doesn't know that either. He would get really, really, really angry if he ever found out. I don't know his name.' The boyfriend, I presume," DiNozzo said and continued.

" 'He plays football, and I think he's a little older than Amy. She used to like him a lot, but she doesn't like him as much anymore. I don't know why. She was talking to him on the phone on Saturday and he made her cry. She got mad when she thought I was listening and made me leave. I think she was going to meet him yesterday. I hope this helps you find her. Please bring her home fast. Sincerely yours, Sadie.'

"She continues. 'P.S.: Don't tell Father she likes to be called Amy. He gets mad. He says nicknames are for low people, and we're not low people. But I don't think that's right. P.P.S.: Please don't tell Father I told you any of this. He'd really, really, really, really..." DiNozzo paused, silently counting. "She says 'really' eight times. 'He'd really get mad if he knew I was talking to you. P.P.P.S: I hope you like kisses. They're my favorite.' That's it." DiNozzo folded the papers in half and handed them back to Gibbs. The senior agent tucked them into his inside jacket pocket.

"What are all the P's about?" Ziva asked.

"It's something little kids do," McGee said. "It basically means, 'one more thing.' My sister Sarah used to go on for pages that way, adding one more 'P' for every thought she had after she wrote the 'sincerely'."

Gibbs was silent for a second, remembering his own little girl, Kelly. She used to end letters that way, too. It had been almost 20 years since he'd last gotten a letter from her. He still had the last one she'd sent him while he was stationed in Kuwait, secured in a small wooden box in his dresser along with a few pictures of her and her mother and some small totems that were important to them both. And their death certificates. He forced the thought away.

"She said she didn't want her sister to get in trouble again," Fornell noted.

"She did," Gibbs agreed. The father had denied that Amaya had ever been in trouble.

"Wonder if it was home trouble or school trouble?" the FBI man said.

"Did you notice he said Amaya had perfect attendance?" Ziva asked. "Yet the preliminary information we received from the director indicated she was absent a week last fall, and a day last week."

Gibbs nodded. He'd noticed that, too. "DiNozzo, David," he said, "Take the car and go over to the school."

"See if we identify the boyfriend," DiNozzo cut in. "Figure out who's wrong about the attendance."

Ziva added: "Talk to her brother, to find out if he has been escorting her around school since they arrived in America, or if it is a recent development, possibly related to her trouble. If the father suspected she had a boyfriend, that might have started it."

Gibbs nodded his acceptance of their tasks. Fornell leaned in the window to make eye contact with DiNozzo.

"Check in with the security coordinator's office before you talk to anyone," he cautioned. "They don't appreciate men with guns on campus without an appointment. Or women either," he added, nodding in Ziva's direction. "You can't spit out your gum without hitting a protection detail over there."

"Or throw a kiss," DiNozzo added, making Ziva laugh and Gibbs glare at him.

"McGee, you're with me." Gibbs grabbed the collection of kisses and got out of the car, McGee exiting behind him. DiNozzo came around and took Gibbs' place. McGee went to the trunk and retrieved Gibbs' backpack and his own.

"Call us before you leave the school," Gibbs added as DiNozzo started the car. "McGee will have names of her friends from the Facebook account. Here." He held out his hand. When DiNozzo stuck his own out the window, Gibbs dropped half the candies into his palm.

"Share, DiNozzo," he said.

"Got it, Boss," DiNozzo grinned and they pulled away.

"Back to the office?" Fornell asked Gibbs as the three remaining men moved over to the FBI sedan.

"Yeah. I'll take that coffee now." With a final glance up at Sadie's closed window, Gibbs got into the passenger side and they followed in DiNozzo's wake.

* * *

...to be continued...

Thank you to those who have reviewed. I am grateful for your kind words, and hang on every one. Remember... reviews keep writers writing!


	3. Chapter 3 - Librarians Know Everything

**Chapter Three - Librarians Know Everything**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

After getting coffees all around, the two senior agents dropped McGee off at the Navy Yard. He would get to work on accessing Amaya's Facebook account. He would also start the multiple mundane tasks involved in a missing persons case: Run routine background checks on the family, call the hospitals, the morgue and all area law enforcement agencies to see if she'd come in under her own name or as a Jane Doe. From his laptop in the car, McGee had already determined her phone was pay-as-you-go, and there was no account information to look up. It was GPS enabled, but wasn't tracking, meaning its battery was dead. Or had been removed.

Fornell and Gibbs drove across the river to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling. On the way, Gibbs reflected that at least this case wasn't going to involve a lot of travel. The Aziz family home, the missing girl's school, and the base where her father worked were all within 15 minutes of the Navy Yard. It would be a nice change.

Gibbs figured their first stop on base ought to be the library where Aziz said Amy spent three or four nights a week. It would be the most likely place to find someone who knew her outside of her family. If nothing else, the librarian there might be able to tell them something about her habits away from her father's eye.

"You got an opinion yet?" Fornell asked Gibbs.

"Not really," Gibbs replied. He was sucking on a chocolate and looking out the passenger window at the passing scenery. Washington DC was beautiful in the spring.

"You haven't put out an Amber Alert," Fornell pointed out, referring to the nationwide missing children's alert system that put information about suspected kidnapping victims on highway signs and in the electronic inboxes of law enforcement officers of every stripe. "So you must not think she's at risk."

"No signs of foul play, no evidence she was having a problem with anyone. She's 16, living in America, under the thumb of her traditionally religious father who doesn't think she has time for anything but studying and personal enrichment. She probably just needed a break."

"So where is she?" Fornell asked. "According to her father, she doesn't have any friends she could have spent the night with."

"She has friends. Her little sister says she has a Facebook account, and a boyfriend. I'm guessing when McGee gets a list of names and we start making calls, she'll turn up."

"And until then?" Fornell asked. He pulled up to the front gate of the base, joining a short line of cars passing through security.

Gibbs shrugged. "Until then, we work it."

"You mean, you work it. I observe."

Gibbs barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

Working with Fornell wasn't a terrible thing, really. They were two of a kind. Practical, real, not in the habit of coddling their employees or their friends. Comfortable in their own skins. Unapologetically patriotic and committed to making the world a better place, one jailed dirtbag at a time. Fornell was a little more vocal than Gibbs, and a little better at dealing with the bureaucrats. Gibbs was a little tougher, a little harder, a little rougher around the edges. Their differences came from their varied life experiences: Though Fornell had seen his share of tragedy and horror, Gibbs had experienced far more personal loss. It made them different. But definitely cut from the same cloth.

On the other hand, there had been times when they'd ended up at odds. Most severely a few years before when Fornell and his team arrested DiNozzo for murder. The evidence against his second had been overwhelming, but Gibbs had never doubted for a moment that DiNozzo was innocent. Fornell had allowed the investigation to focus on DiNozzo anyway, and it had nearly destroyed their friendship. Despite the evidence piling up, Gibbs expected Fornell to believe him when he said DiNozzo hadn't done anything wrong. The fact that he didn't trust Gibbs' word on the subject was hard to handle. When it was all over and the truth had come out, Fornell had apologized; first to DiNozzo, then to Gibbs. But it had cast a pallor over their relationship for a long time.

Still, they got through it. Their friendship had developed slowly over many years, and it they both knew it would take more than a single incident to destroy it.

The FBI agent stopped at the gate and held his credentials out the window for inspection. The Marine guard looked closely at them, then asked for Gibbs'. When he saw the NCIS identification, he relaxed somewhat, which actually made Gibbs smile. No one in the Navy much liked having NCIS around, unless they needed them. But they liked the FBI even less. At least with NCIS, sailors and Marines knew they were being investigated by people who understood them.

Security check cleared, they were directed to the base's education center. Inside, a good-sized library featured books that would be of interest to the base's diverse population: General knowledge, reference material, children's books, fiction for all ages, and a large military-interest section including books from the professional reading lists of all branches of the military. It also featured six computer stations with public access to the Internet.

"So much for no unmonitored computer access," Gibbs said.

"You'd think a teacher would know what was available at their local library," Fornell said.

"Probably counted on the brother to keep her off them," Gibbs said. They stepped up to the circulation desk. A high stool held a short, round women with curly brown hair turning gray and a smile as big as she was.

After introducing themselves and discovering she was in fact the librarian, Gibbs took out Amaya's picture.

"Do you know this girl?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "That's Amy. She's here several nights a week."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Um... must have been Monday." Day before yesterday. "She and Daniel spent an hour or more on the computers, researching something for a school project."

"Daniel?" Fornell asked.

"Her friend from school. They're usually here together."

"Amy, Daniel and her brother?" Gibbs asked.

"No, her brother didn't stay. He usually doesn't," she said.

"He doesn't?"

"Amy brings him along, but as soon as they get here, he goes across base to the rec center. I think her dad makes her bring him."

Gibbs and Fornell exchanged looks.

"Have you seen Daniel since Monday?" Gibbs asked.

"Can't say that I have."

"Do you know Daniel's last name?" Gibbs asked. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I don't. What's this about?" the librarian asked, suddenly suspicious. "Have the kids done something wrong?"

"No ma'am," Gibbs said. "Amy didn't come home from school last night. Do you have any idea where she might be?"

"No. But if anyone knows, it'll be Daniel. They're like two peas in a pod."

"Is he her boyfriend?" Fornell asked. The librarian smiled.

"I don't think so. He wants to be, but I don't think she feels the same. Shame, too. He's a good kid."

"And you don't know his last name?" Fornell asked.

"I'm sorry, I don't. He never applied for a library card, so I don't have any of his personal information. I only know first names."

"You said they go to school together?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. They to work together on projects quite frequently."

"Do your computers keep track of what kids do on the internet?" Gibbs asked, gesturing to the grouping of computer work stations.

"No. The system automatically clears the browser history every night." That would have been too easy.

"And you don't know anything more about either of them?" Fornell asked.

"Oh, I didn't say that," the librarian smiled. "Amy is very intelligent, probably gifted. A wonderful girl, very shy with strangers. She loves classical music, but lately has developed a taste for classic rock. She loves to read, but she never checks out any books. Just reads them here.

"Daniel's a little slow. Not something you'd notice at first, but he struggles a bit with the language arts. He was held back a year, in middle school I believe. He has trouble with the more advanced concepts of English writing and subtleties of comprehension. He reads a lot as well. Not because he enjoys reading, but because he wants to get better. He qualified for college prep English this year, but it took a lot of work.

"Amy and Daniel are in the same American History class. Amy was struggling. The school put them together in a peer tutoring program. It's how they became friends: He helps her with history, she helps him with English. They both grew up somewhere else, so it gave them common ground right from the beginning."

Gibbs was impressed. "Do you know where he came from?"

"Not precisely, but I think his family was stationed in Germany at some point. He speaks a little."

Gibbs frowned. "He's a military dependent?"

"Oh, absolutely. Marines, I'm pretty sure."

"What makes you say that?"

"His sponsor came looking for him one night last year. He was out of uniform, but he was definitely a Marine. He had the look. After so many years around service members, you get to know it. Like you, for instance." She looked Gibbs up and down and smiled. "You've been out for a while, but you're a Marine. Am I right?"

"Yes ma'am," Gibbs smiled. "So what else can you tell us?"

She hesitated. "There was something bothering them lately."

"Both of them?" Fornell asked. She nodded.

"Yes. For the last few weeks. They were different."

"How so?" Gibbs asked.

"They always enjoyed their study time. Amy would smile, and Daniel would sometimes laugh out loud, at her, or at himself. Sometimes I'd have to remind him to keep it down." She smiled. "But lately, Daniel had stopped laughing. Amy looked worried about something. At times, she seemed almost… scared."

"Any idea what it was about?" Gibbs asked. She shook her head.

"No. I asked Daniel, last Thursday. He got here before Amy did. But he denied anything was wrong. When I pushed him a little, he said they'd been having a tough time at school. College decisions were coming in. But I'm sure that's not what it was. It was something more personal."

"Anything else?"

"I don't think so. But I'm sure if anyone knows where Amy went, it'll be Daniel."

They thanked her for her time, asked her to call if she thought of anything else, and headed out. On the way back to the car, Gibbs called DiNozzo.

"You got anything yet?" he asked.

"According to the Headmistress, it's like the report said: she's a straight-A student, she doesn't have many friends, she's shy and quiet."

"You get a second opinion?"

"She doesn't have lunch with her brother. Haven't talked to him yet, he's taking a test. But the lunch ladies say she usually eats with a small group of other shy, quiet girls. We'll be talking to them.

"Oh, and we confirmed the missed classes. Five consecutive days the last week of September, report says it was due to unspecified illness. The day last week was a doctor's appointment. Both signed off by her father."

"So he lied to us. Why?"

"Dunno, Boss. Seems like an odd thing to lie about. Doesn't get him anything."

"That we know of," Gibbs said.

"That we know of," DiNozzo acknowledged.

Gibbs gave Tony what they'd found.

"The boyfriend might be a Marine dependent named Daniel. Kid by that name spends a lot of time at the library with her."

"The library? As in, they say they're at the library, but really they're making out behind the bleachers?"

"No, DiNozzo, as in, at the library. Librarian says they're not dating, but she could be wrong."

"I don't know, Gibbs, librarians pretty much know everything," DiNozzo said with a smile in his voice. Gibbs hung up and immediately dialed McGee.

"You get into her Facebook?"

"She's got her security settings tight," he said. "Nothing viewable to the public. I'm working with a password cracker, but it might take a while working it by myself."

Gibbs nodded to himself. Usually, their forensics specialist Abby Scuito was the back-up go-to for computer problems. She was more a hobbyist than a professional, but her skills were still superb. Unfortunately, she was away at a conference at the University of Texas, after which she was going to spend a week visiting family in Alabama. It was the first time she'd taken away in several years, and Gibbs didn't begrudge it. But he did miss her. On several levels.

"What else?" he asked.

"No one matching her description at any local hospital or anywhere else. Nothing significant in the records I can reach for the parents."

"Records you can reach?" Gibbs asked, curious.

"I can't access anything from before he got here, to the U.S. The computers in Afghanistan aren't exactly public, and what I can get to is out of date and incomplete. The U.S. military is working on putting their infrastructure back together, but public records aren't as high a priority as hospitals, schools and roads."

"Alright," Gibbs said. "Do what you can."

"There's a DoD background report on the father from when they were thinking of hiring him. Contents classified, but results were 'security check negative, approved for hire'."

"Classified to us?" Gibbs asked. That would be unusual. As federal agents, their security clearances were pretty high.

"Classified to me," McGee clarified. "You should be able to get in." As a senior field agent, Gibbs' clearance was one level higher than McGee's.

"So be me, McGee," Gibbs said. There was a second's pause.

"On it, Boss," McGee said and Gibbs hung up. He had to smile at McGee's easy acceptance of Gibbs' instruction. Gibbs had long suspected that his junior agent knew – or could figure out – his password for matters of internal security. He'd had no proof, but acting like he already knew something he only suspected was one of the simplest tools in Gibbs' kit. He had learned over the years that if you acted omnipotent, you could often appear omniscient. And it certainly raised the level of reverence he was given by those around him. Came in handy every now and then.

"Wonder kid got anything?" Fornell asked.

"He's working on it," Gibbs said. He filled Fornell in on what McGee had told him.

"What's next?" Fornell asked. "Father's co-workers?"

"Lunch," Gibbs said. "By the time we're done, they should have something."

* * *

...to be continued...

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	4. Chapter 4 - Yameen (Pt 1)

**Chapter Four - Yameen (Pt. 1)**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Working an investigation at a school was pretty routine. Though the agents of NCIS didn't often have kids as victims of their cases – thankfully – children frequently floated around the edges. They'd talked to children and their teachers many times over the years and had the routine pretty much down. Check in with the principal's office, get permission to talk to whatever kid they needed, find out where said kid was currently, have him or her brought to the office, try not to make too big a splash walking through the halls. Unless, of course, they wanted to make a splash.

At the International Day School, the routine was a little different. DiNozzo and David presented themselves at the security office first. Because there were so many different federal law enforcement agencies and private security companies involved in protection details at the school, someone had to be in charge. In this case, it was rank rules. Meaning as protectors of the President's children, the Secret Service had the lead.

DiNozzo hadn't worked with the Presidential Protection Detail in nine, no, almost ten years. The last time was when someone killed one of the President's Naval aides in an effort to get next to the man himself. In order to secure jurisdiction, Gibbs and DiNozzo had high-jacked Air Force One. Not with the President on it, of course, but still. It had truly pissed off the boys in the dark suits. They only escaped serious consequences because, in the end, Gibbs had fired the bullets that killed the man that came way too close to killing the President.

Of course, that experience had ended with Secret Service Agent Katelyn Todd getting fired by that service and joining Gibbs' team at NCIS, which had been a bonus to the agency and to DiNozzo personally. Kate had quickly become the little sister Tony had never known he wanted. Thinking of her these days didn't hurt as much as it used to, right after she'd been killed. In her honor, DiNozzo decided he wouldn't screw with the Secret Service too much. Besides, screwing with them could get you thrown into a deep, dark hole for a long, long time.

So, they made nice. Showed their badges, asked permission to be on campus. Declined to leave their guns behind, but agreed to wear them openly with their badges clipped beside. The kids at International Day were world-wise. They weren't bothered by weapons on campus, but an unexpected peek at a concealed gun could set off a panic.

That settled, they went to the principal's office. The Headmistress, actually. It was clear in a few minutes that the briefing they'd gotten on Amaya had come from her. It was almost word-for-word.

The headmistress informed them that Amy's brother Yameen was taking an exam and could not be disturbed, but that this was the last class period before lunch and she would have him report to the office at the end of the period. Meanwhile, they were free to talk to any staff member who was not currently teaching.

On the theory that those who said little saw much, the agents started with the lunch ladies. They got the names of several girls Amaya liked to eat lunch with. None of the ladies claimed to know who Amaya's boyfriend was.

Then Gibbs called, and they had a first name and another place to look. Maybe librarians really did know everything. They talked to the one at the school but struck out: Amaya didn't spend a lot of time there. She occasionally visited to check out a research book, never checked out or read fiction, and never got on the computers. The librarian had nothing useful to say on the matter of with whom Amaya might have been hanging around. Which made DiNozzo smile. He loved the sound of perfect grammar. Especially in a light British accent.

They talked to the football coach. Yes, he had a Daniel on his team. Not a player, the equipment manager. Daniel Hamilton. The agents figured that was close enough for a little girl to think he was 'on the football team.' The coach confirmed he spent a lot of time hanging around with a Muslim girl, and he was definitely a Marine's kid.

Back to the Headmistress's office. Daniel Hamilton was also a senior, and was in Amaya's history class. Yes, he had been paired with her in the peer tutoring program. Could they speak to him? He wasn't in school today. Oh? Yes, his guardian had called to say he was home sick.

Well, that was certainly interesting. The agents asked for Daniel's information. The secretary worked her computer for a minute and handed over a short printout.

"His brother is his guardian," DiNozzo told Ziva after scanning the information. "He's a Marine. Stationed at the Naval Research Laboratory."

"Is that not just across the river from us?" Ziva asked. "At Anacostia-Bolling?"

"Very good, Ziva. Your sense of geography is improving." He read a little further down. "They live on base there."

"The same base where Amaya's father works," Ziva said. "Perhaps we should pay him a visit. It cannot be a coincidence that he is absent from school the same day his girlfriend goes missing."

A series of electronic chimes sounded, and there was a sudden increase in noise from the hallway.

"After we talk to the brother," DiNozzo said.

They waited in the office for five minutes or so. Several students came in, spoke to the secretary, and left. Finally one turned to them.

"Are you looking for me?" he said. He was wearing jeans, an orange and yellow striped shirt, and black runners. The only nod to his culture was a white kufi atop his short, black hair.

"Are you Yameen Aziz?" Ziva asked. He nodded helpfully.

"We're from NCIS," DiNozzo said and showed his badge. The kid reached for it and Tony held it tightly while Yameen ran his finger over the raised lettering.

"What is NCIS?" he asked.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Ziva supplied. "We are looking for your sister."

"Did Father not call the FBI?" he said. His accent was mild, which would be expected from a child young enough to change primary languages, but his stilted speech pattern – like his father's – reminded DiNozzo of Ziva.

"He did. We're helping out," DiNozzo said.

Yameen shrugged. "Okay. What do you need me for?"

"We just have a few questions for you," DiNozzo said. "We're going to invite one of your guidance counselors to sit in while we talk, if that's okay."

"Sure," Yameen said.

The headmistress had strongly suggested that when they talked to Yameen, a counselor be present. The agents didn't mind. Might even make it easier, if there was someone Yameen liked in the room.

The kid directed them next door to the guidance office. A tall, slim woman in a blue dress introduced herself as Mrs. Sparks, then invited them into her private office. The space wasn't large, but by bringing in an extra chair from the main part of the office, they managed to all fit. Ziva began.

"When did you last see Amy?" she asked.

"Her name is Amaya," Yameen said firmly. "It means 'Night Rain'. She was born during a rainstorm that broke a two-year drought in our village. Amy means nothing."

"My apologies," Ziva said and repeated the question: "When did you last see Amaya?"

"At school yesterday. We ate lunch together, like we always do," he said. "She left sometime after that."

"Your father said you always eat lunch with her," DiNozzo said. "And it's what he expects of you. But you don't actually, do you?"

Yameen frowned, looked from one agent to the other, then over to the counselor before responding. "We do not sit at the same table. I keep an eye on her. That is all that Father requires. Her friends are boring."

"How 'bout you try to stick to the actual truth, Yameen," DiNozzo said with a cajoling smile. "You're not in trouble here, but you could be if you lie to us."

"I did not lie," he objected. "We eat lunch in the same room. I watch her. We do not have to be at the same table to eat together."

"Yameen," Mrs. Sparks said reproachfully. Yameen nodded and managed to look chagrined and disdainful at the same time.

"So you saw her at lunch. Then what?" DiNozzo asked.

"Then nothing. I went to pick her up after piano lesson but she was not there. I went out to the car, but she was not there either. I waited for a while, then I told the driver to take me home." He shrugged. "I do not know where she went. But I know she is going to be in big trouble when she returns."

"You are not worried?" Ziva asked.

"No. She has been acting weird lately. She probably ran away. She will return."

"What do you mean, weird?" Ziva asked. The agents wondered if his story would shed light on what the librarian saw.

"She has been all moody, crying for no reason. She sneaks out sometimes. Defies the rules. You think she would have learned after last time."

"What happened last time?" Ziva asked.

Yameen suddenly seemed to reconsider. He looked at Mrs. Sparks, then shook his head. "Nothing."

"What did she do last time?" DiNozzo repeated, his voice a little harder. They didn't usually interrogate children, but a little intimidation sometimes went a long way.

"She snuck out of the house to go out with her friends. Father was very angry. She was… grounded. For a week. That was all. After that, she was good for a long time. But lately she has been getting sneaky again. Not being where she is supposed to be, passing notes in the hall. Things like that."

The agents could tell he wasn't giving them the whole truth, but mutually decided to come back to it later.

"Do you know her boyfriend?" Ziva asked.

"Amaya does not have a boyfriend," Yameen said firmly. "It is not allowed."

"Are you sure? We heard she goes out with Daniel Hamilton," Ziva said.

"Daniel? No way. They are friends, but not like that."

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked.

"Of course. I go with them wherever they go. They are just friends."

"You go with them like you eat with them?" DiNozzo asked. Gibbs had told him about Yameen's habit of leaving them at the library. The boy looked a little uncomfortable.

"He is good. He takes care of her. I do not need to protect him from her."

"Is that why you escort her? To protect her?" Ziva asked.

Yameen shrugged. "I guess. Father says it is necessary."

"How long have you been escorting her around campus?" DiNozzo asked.

"Just this year," Yameen said.

"Why not before?" DiNozzo asked. Yameen shrugged again.

"Father told me I had to start walking with her, whenever she was in public. Just like at home."

"And when did that happen, exactly?" Ziva asked.

"I do not remember," Yameen said.

"It was last fall," Mrs. Sparks suddenly said. "After Amaya returned from a week away. The end of September."

The agents exchanged glances. There was something there, for sure.

"We were told Amaya was ill and missed a week of school," Ziva said. "What happened to her?"

Again, there was a moment of silence while Yameen considered. Whatever the kid was about to say, it was a lie.

"She was sick. Like, the flu or something."

"Did she go to the hospital?" Ziva asked.

"No. It was not that bad, just not something she wanted to spread around. So Father kept her home. Until she was better."

"Why did her being sick make your father decide you needed to start to escort her?" Ziva asked.

Another shrug. "Maybe that had nothing to do with it. That was just when it started. Father is very traditional. He wants us to be, too. It is hard for the girls, but it is necessary."

"It didn't cause any problems? With her friends?" DiNozzo asked.

"Not with her friends," Yameen said. "She gets embarrassed sometimes, but…"

"Students at International Day are used to the… odd… requirements of some parents," the counselor interjected. "There was some initial murmuring about it, but it quieted down quickly. We're a very accepting school."

"So when she snuck out last time, where did she go?" DiNozzo asked.

"She went to a dance."

"Where?" DiNozzo asked.

"Here, at the school."

"The homecoming dance," Mrs. Sparks supplied. "That was the Friday night before she missed the next week of school."

There was a long silence in the room while the adults thought that through. Yameen looked at the pictures on the walls, examined his fingers, squirmed a little in his chair. Then, he spoke.

"She left the house without permission, then lied about where she had gone. She said mother had told her she could go to the library. Mother tried to help her, but she could not defy Father for very long. And it was not hard to figure out the truth. She was not even properly dressed."

"Properly dressed?" Ziva asked.

"She was wearing a skirt so short it hardly even covered her knees. And a blouse that showed her arms, and her belly when she raised her arms. And she had her hair out." Yameen shook his head. "If she was going to defy Father, she should have done one thing at a time. Maybe he would not have been so angry."

"How angry was he?" Ziva asked.

"Very. That is why he… grounded her for so long." Yameen tripped over it again. "She was grounded, and then she got sick and had to stay home anyway. She stayed in her room the whole time, because she was grounded."

The agents had good picture of what had actually happened. Amaya had been caught breaking several of her culture's big rules, she'd 'gotten sick' and missed a week's school, and her little brother had then been assigned to babysit her. Independently, both DiNozzo and David came to the same conclusion: The sickness was a cover for whatever her father had done to her because of her disobedience. They looked at one another, and with a glance, DiNozzo told his partner to run with it.

* * *

...to be continued...

Sorry for the inconvenient break. But there's lots more to come in this conversation.

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	5. Chapter 5 - Yameen (Pt 2)

**Chapter Five - Yameen (Pt. 2)**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_...from last chapter..._

_The agents had good picture of what had actually happened. Amaya had been caught breaking several of her culture's big rules, she'd 'gotten sick' and missed a week's school, and her little brother had then been assigned to babysit her. Independently, both DiNozzo and David came to the same conclusion: The sickness was a cover for whatever her father had done to her because of her disobedience. They looked at one another, and with a glance, DiNozzo told his partner to run with it._

"When I was a little girl, growing up in your part of the world, my father was very traditional as well," Ziva said. "I had to conform to the rules of my culture, or there would be consequences. My father would get very angry with me sometimes because I liked to run and play with the boys. He wanted me to dress and behave like a lady, but I did not want to. I would put my brother's shorts on under my skirt so when I was away from the house, I could take off the skirt and play sports.

"One day my father happened by the park and found me dressed that way. He was very, very angry. He beat me. Not badly enough to require a doctor, but enough that I would not forget the lesson."

Ziva paused a moment to let that sink in, then continued. "Is your father like that, too? Does he get angry like that?"

Yameen shook his head. It wasn't convincing. "He gets angry, but he would never hurt us. He does not believe in hurting children. He believes they must be protected."

"Under Sharia Law, Amaya is not a child," Ziva pointed out. "She is old enough to be a wife, and to have children of her own."

"While we are in America, we must abide by the laws of this land," Yameen said, and it sounded like he was repeating something he'd learned by rote. "Father would never hurt us. He only wants what is best for us."

This time, even the Mrs. Sparks could tell Yameen was lying.

"Yameen, if your father is hurting you, you can tell someone at school. We'll help you."

"He is not," Yameen insisted. "Sometimes his punishments are harsh, but he merely wants us to learn."

"Dad your father get angry with Amaya last night? Punish her harshly?" Ziva asked.

"No," Yameen said, shaking his head. "I told you. She did not come home from school. Father was worried. He called the police. They came to the house, but they would not help. The police told him to wait, that she would return home eventually. Father stayed up all night, but when she had not returned by morning, he started calling people until someone said they would make the FBI come." That matched the version of events they'd gotten, and probably got the father off the hook. Unless they heard otherwise, anyway.

"Why did Amaya miss school last week?" DiNozzo asked, reentering the conversation.

"She did not," Yameen said.

"Yes she did," DiNozzo said. "Last Thursday. She missed the whole day. Your Father called the school."

There was a flash of something like fear on Yameen's face. "I do not know anything about that," he said after a moment.

"You walk her from class to class, watch her eat lunch, and you don't know she missed an entire day?" DiNozzo said. "That doesn't work."

"Oh, wait. You said Thursday? Of course. Yes, she did miss that day. She had an appointment."

"What kind of appointment?" DiNozzo asked.

"I do not know. It was none of my business."

"Your father told the school she was at the doctor," Ziva said.

"Then that must be where she was," Yameen said, like it was the obvious answer.

"Had she been sick?" DiNozzo asked.

"I did not notice," Yameen said.

"Had she been hurt?" DiNozzo asked.

"No."

"So why was she going to the doctor?" he asked again.

"I do not know. Why does it matter? She obviously came back from the doctor. Then she left again, yesterday. Wherever she is now, she will return."

"And then she'll be in big trouble," DiNozzo said.

"Yes. But she will learn."

Neither of the agents doubted that.

"So you don't have any idea where Amaya might have gone?" DiNozzo asked, wrapping it up.

"No. I thought she had gone somewhere with her friends. But they are all in school today. Except Daniel. He is not here. Maybe you should talk to him."

"We will. Are you certain you do not know why she left?" Ziva asked, trying one more time.

"No. Things were going well. There is no reason for her to have run away. I am sure she is just out being… defiant," he said, and gave a pleased nod, like that was exactly the word he was looking for.

"Alright," DiNozzo said. "If you think of anything else, please tell Mrs. Sparks you need to talk to us again."

"Okay. May I go to lunch now? I am really hungry."

"Of course," Ziva said. Yameen rose and hurried out of the room.

"Do you think her father hurt her?" Mrs. Sparks asked with a worried frown.

"Probably not this time," DiNozzo said. "Though she might have run away because she was afraid of him. What do you know about the family?"

"Not much. The father comes to the school once a semester on parent conference night, the only times I've seen him. I've never met the mother. Neither of the parents come to school events."

"I thought Amaya played in the school orchestra. Do they not come to her concerts?" Ziva asked.

Mrs. Sparks shook her head, sadly. "Amaya doesn't play at concerts. Her father doesn't allow it. She's a natural born musician, self-taught before she came here. Her father agreed to let her study music for the educational value, and for the discipline that comes with playing an instrument. But he informed the orchestra director when Amaya first started showing interest that she would not be performing in public. What a waste. She plays beautifully. The cello, the flute, and the piano."

"She takes lessons after school, in addition to her music class?" Ziva asked. They had seen that on Amaya's schedule.

Mrs. Sparks smiled. "She gives lessons. To other kids."

"Does she get paid for that?"

"She does. I believe the current rate is $20 per hour."

Which explained where she got the money for a cell phone.

"Does her father know this?" Ziva asked.

"I have no idea," Mrs. Sparks answered.

"Do you know Amaya well?" Ziva asked.

"Not really. I've only heard other teachers talking. She's never come into our office in the years she's been here. Yameen, I've seen many times."

"Why?" DiNozzo asked.

"He's already planning to attend Georgetown after he graduates. I've been working with him on finding a sponsor family, in case his father has to leave the country before he turns 18."

"But you are not doing the same for Amaya?" Ziva asked. Mrs. Sparks shook her head.

"She hasn't asked for any help. On that or anything else." She frowned. "It's really a shame, too. She's so gifted, intellectually. When her father filled out the application paperwork for her to attend this school, he told us she had only attended a neighborhood girls school in Kandahar, and he had no idea what her academic level was. Frankly, we assumed she wouldn't qualify for scholarship and only tested her based on our 'review all applicants' policy. That and the fact that the application was accompanied by a support letter from the Commanding Officer at the Naval College where her father had been hired to teach. We were all startled when the results came in: Amaya scored off the charts across the board. We wanted to put her in our exceptional students program, but her father refused. He wanted her mainstreamed. He said just getting a standard education was enough." The counselor sighed a little.

"The headmistress told the father she needed to do additional testing. It was a little fib, but we needed the time to figure out where to place her. Over five days, she learned enough specific subject material to pass ninth grade final exams. It's impossible to know how far she could have gone. We just ran out of time. So she was placed in 10th grade. She's taking all AP classes this year with a 3.98 GPA. She would more than qualify for scholarship at any college she wanted to go to, but I don't think she's even applied." She shook her head. "She'll graduate in June and I suppose she'll go back to Afghanistan and be some man's servant for the rest of her life."

The agents gave that a moment. If that was true, maybe that explained why Amaya had run. If that's what had happened.

"What about her friend, Daniel? Do you know him?"

"Casually. He's been in a few times. He's planning on attending community college in the fall, hoping to transfer to a four-year school if he can get his English grade up."

"How does a Marine dependent with bad grades get to go to school here?" DiNozzo asked. "It's not like his family could afford to pay tuition."

"He's here on a 9/11 scholarship," Mrs. Sparks said. When the agents looked clueless, she explained. "His father, a Naval Officer, was killed in the Pentagon on 9/11. International Day offers free tuition to the children of the Pentagon victims."

Well, that explained the brother as guardian, DiNozzo thought. "That's nice," he said. "How many kids do you have in that program?"

"Eight at the moment. Daniel's is a particularly sad story, though."

"How so?" Ziva asked.

"His twin sisters had gone to work with their dad that morning. They were 13 years old, doing a career study project for school. They were killed too, though at their mother's request the Pentagon managed to keep that information away from the press and it was never reported. Then five years later, Daniel's mother died of cancer. They went from a family of six to just the two of them." She shook her head. "That's why Daniel got behind. He was terribly depressed and very angry for a long time. He basically just stopped learning. By the time he arrived here, he was five years behind in language acquisition. He's made amazing progress. He's reading at near grade level now, and he's above grade level in math. He's a great kid."

"Is he Amaya's boyfriend?"

Mrs. Sparks smiled. "He certainly wants to be. He's very protective of her, gets all 'puppy dog eyes' whenever he talks about her. But I don't know if she feels the same. Kids these days… It's hard to know."

After handing her one of his cards, DiNozzo and David thanked the counselor and headed out. He called Gibbs to update him on everything they'd learned, then told him they were on their way over to Daniel's house. Maybe Amaya would be there, and they'd be able to wrap this up.

* * *

...to be continued...

That's about it for the setup. The action begins next chapter.

Overflowing thanks to those of you who've reviewed. I cherish every word. joy


	6. Chapter 6 - Protecting the Innocent

**Chapter Six - Protecting the Innocent**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

"Well isn't that convenient," Gibbs said when he returned to the table after talking with DiNozzo. They were just finishing lunch at a very busy diner on base at Anacostia-Bolling. He'd had to step outside so he could hear. "DiNozzo confirmed Amy's friend is a Marine dependent named Daniel Hamilton. His older brother and guardian is stationed at the Naval Research Lab."

"That is convenient," Fornell agreed. They could see the Research Lab from where they were sitting.

Gibbs gave Fornell an overview of what his team had learned about Amaya's academic history, her father's lack of involvement in her life, and Daniel's history. When he was done, he took a deep drink of his coffee before adding the last thing.

"DiNozzo thinks the father's been abusing her," Gibbs said. Fornell frowned and carefully set his coffee cup back on the table.

"Abusing her how?" he asked.

"Physical. A beating. Brother denied there was any abuse, but says the father punishes her harshly for breaking the rules."

"What rules?"

"Sneaking out, wearing the wrong clothes, letting her hair show."

"Ah. Those rules," Fornell said. "What evidence does he have?"

"The week of school she missed last fall: Her brother was evasive about the details. Says her father grounded her for a week, that week, after she got caught sneaking out, and then she coincidentally got sick and couldn't come to school. Coincides with the start of the brother escorting her around."

The two men fell silent in the busy diner. As fathers of daughters, they could not understand the right some parents thought they had to beat their kids. Not that they both hadn't delivered an occasional spanking when it was required. But it was never delivered in anger, it always started with an explanation and it always ended with a hug. And it never resulted in the need for medical treatment or missed school.

"We gotta find this girl, be sure she's okay," Fornell said.

"Yeah, we do," Gibbs agreed.

"How do we know she didn't come home last night? Maybe he hurt her."

"So far, it reads like a runaway," Gibbs said. "Now we know she had something to run away from."

"DiNozzo and David couldn't get more out of the brother?" Fornell asked. He drained his cup.

"Nope."

"They try everything?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs frowned. "I don't know how you do it at the Hoover Building, Tobias, but we don't interrogate children."

"Of course you don't. But he's a high school freshman. I figured Special Agent David would give him the sexy look, pout a little, and have him eating out of her hand in two minutes flat."

Gibbs shook his head. "He's used to lying. Denied the abuse. Said she doesn't have a boyfriend. Tells the father he eats lunch with her, but really sits at a table across the room."

"What about the missed day last week?" Fornell asked.

"He initially claimed he didn't know anything about it. When they pushed him, he changed his mind, 'remembered' she'd missed, but said he didn't know why. Agreed that if the father said she was at the doctor, then that's must be where she was, but he still didn't know why."

"There's something there," Fornell said.

"I'll get McGee on it. Meanwhile, they're on the way to the boyfriend's house, and we need to talk to the Marine. Maybe he suspected the abuse, too. Got involved."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Fornell said. "So, over to the Research Lab then?"

"Soon as I finish my coffee," Gibbs said.

**6-6-6-6-6**

Before getting back in the car, Gibbs called McGee. He told him to see if he could find Amaya's doctor, then asked him to look up Daniel Hamilton and his Marine brother. There was a few minutes of background noise, then McGee started talking.

"Marine Sergeant Robert Hamilton, age 26. In the Marines eight years. Single, one dependent, brother Daniel Hamilton, age 17. Uh... mother died of cancer five years ago, father died in the Pentagon on 9/11, along with..." McGee's breath caught for a second.

"Yeah, we heard about the sisters. What else?"

McGee paused, collecting himself Gibbs thought. He understood: the echoes of that day would probably never end.

"They've been stationed at Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling for three years. The brother leads a security squad at the Naval Laboratory. He's a working dog handler. Daniel is a student at the International Day School. He's enrolled in the exceptional family member program, and as part of it, Sgt. Hamilton's got a transfer waiver to stay in the District until his brother graduates.

"Neither of them have any criminal record, Daniel got his driver's license six months after his 16th birthday, no tickets yet. That's all I've got."

Armed with that information, Gibbs called base security and was told Sgt. Hamilton was working at the main gate. They returned there and parked, stepping over to the exit side of the guardhouse.

"We're looking for Sgt. Hamilton," Gibbs said. The guard who'd checked their ID leaned out of the guardhouse and gave a sharp whistle. A Marine walking along the perimeter fence about 75 yards away looked up. He had a Belgian Malinois on a leather leash. The guard waved a 'come on' and the Marine jogged over, the dog loping along beside him.

"These men need to talk to you, Sarge," the gate guard said when the Marine stopped in front of them. The Marine snapped his fingers and made a hand sign. The dog instantly sat beside his handler, ears up, looking up at them with great interest. It was hard to tell if the dog was sizing them up as potential opponents, or potential lunch.

"How can I help you?" Hamilton asked. He was a tall, well-built black man with a clean-shaven head and skin a shade lighter than milk chocolate. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, though they had no target, yet. He was wearing the Marine Working Uniform: a khaki Kevlar vest covered with pockets, an eight-point utility cap, marpats, and desert boots. A black duty belt held all the tools of the military law enforcement trade, including a sidearm in a holster strapped to his right thigh, and a bright yellow Taser weapon strapped to his left. His arm left was resting on an M-4 rifle slung across his chest. If he was any good, Gibbs knew he could bring it to bear in less than a second.

"NCIS," Gibbs said, and showed his badge. The Marine immediately tensed, and the dog looked up at him sharply, whining slightly. Hamilton took a fist-sized black rubber ball out of one of his pants pockets and tossed it to the dog, who relaxed a little and began gnawing at it.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Fornell asked.

"Sure," Hamilton said. He said something to the dog in a foreign language – German, Gibbs thought – and they turned to walk away from the guardhouse. The agents followed.

They walked maybe 20 yards down the fence line to a metal picnic bench under a small shade tree. An ash can half full of mashed-out cigarette butts and a trash can cluttered with coffee cups and soda cans told them this where the guards took their breaks. Hamilton pushed the rifle around to his back and took a seat on one corner of the table. He put a foot up on the bench and after another word to the dog, dropped the leash. The dog took his ball and crawled under the table. In his position on the table, Hamilton was at eye-level with the agents. Gibbs figured that made him at least 6'3".

"We're looking for this girl," Gibbs said, and took out Amy's photo. He showed it to the Marine. He looked at it, then back up at them.

"Why?" he asked.

"You know her?" Gibbs asked.

"Sure. She's a friend of my brother's. Amy something."

"Have you seen her lately?" Gibbs asked.

"Is she in trouble?" Hamilton asked.

"You didn't answer his question," Fornell said. He hadn't shown his ID. The better to keep things simple. "Have you seen her lately?"

"Yes, she comes around sometimes. They've been friends since last fall."

"You still didn't answer his question," Fornell said again, more firmly. "Have you. Seen her. Lately?" He enunciated each work carefully.

"Yes," Hamilton said.

"When?" Gibbs asked. There was a second's hesitation.

"Last night," Hamilton said.

"When last night?" Gibbs asked.

"Late, maybe... 2200 or so."

"Where?" Gibbs asked. More hesitation.

"At our house. She and Daniel were studying."

"What time did she leave?" Gibbs asked.

Again, the Marine hesitated. Gibbs was getting tired of it.

"Look, Sergeant. This girl is only 16. She didn't come home from school last night. Her father's got some kind of pull with the Navy, so here we are. So far, you're the last one to have seen her, and your stalling us is only going to make you a better suspect."

"Whoa, suspect?" Hamilton asked and shook his head. His shoulders slumped. "I can't believe he called the cops."

"Why wouldn't he?" Fornell asked.

"I guess in a way it makes sense," Hamilton said. "He wouldn't want his 'property' escaping." His tone was sarcastic.

The dog reappeared and whined again. Hamilton turned to put both feet on the bench. "Up," he said and patted his thigh. The dog jumped up and sat on the bench between Hamilton's legs, one paw on the Marine's thigh, the chew toy still clamped between his teeth. Hamilton scratched his ears.

"Tell me," Gibbs said, lowering his voice.

Hamilton thought for a minute, then straightened his spine and looked Gibbs in the eye.

"You need to talk to her, before you send her back. Get her side of the story."

"We'd love to. Where is she?" Fornell said.

"We will," Gibbs said. "What happened last night?"

"I had a late training session. I got home a little before 2200. When I found her still there, I told her to go home. Daniel asked if she could stay the night. I said no way, it was a school night. Besides, she's a girl. It wouldn't look good, staying over at the house with two men. So she packed up and left."

"You didn't drive her home?" Fornell asked. Hamilton shook his head, his eyes not leaving Gibbs.

"I knew Daniel would drive her, so I went up to my room and got in the shower. Didn't give it another thought. Until this morning. When I got up, Daniel was in the shower, but Rufus alerted on his bedroom door, like there was someone there."

The dog, hearing his name, looked up sharply and chomped on the ball a couple times. Hamilton unclipped the leash from the dog's collar, wrestled the ball from his mouth and threw the toy as hard as he could down the fence line. With a bark of joy, the dog was off and running after it. Hamilton watched him go. After a second, his gaze returned to Gibbs and he continued.

"There shouldn't have been anyone in his room, so I went in. Rufus went straight for the closet door." Hamilton paused. "She spent the night in his closet. Honestly, I had no idea she was there."

"The dog didn't notice her earlier?" Gibbs asked. Rufus came bounding back, and Hamilton threw the ball again.

"He was fussy last night. I figured it was leftover adrenalin from the training session. I ignored it."

"So what'd you do with her this morning?" Fornell asked.

"I scared the crap out of her," he said. "Not on purpose," he clarified. "I thought Rufus was alerting to a hostile. As far as I knew Daniel was in the shower and there wasn't anyone else in the house. Rufus wasn't acting like he normally would with an unknown, but he was absolutely alerting to someone. So I sent him in after whoever it was."

Again, the dog returned, but this time Hamilton ignored him.

"Did he bite her?" Gibbs asked. Hamilton actually chuffed out a small laugh.

"No. Rufus knew who it was. I'd introduced her as a friendly the first time she came over. As soon as I whipped open the closet door, he was all over her, begging to be scratched. But she wasn't expecting him, and she screamed, which set him off barking, which scared her even more..." he trailed off. "Poor kid." The dog whined and bumped his head against Hamilton's leg.

"Enough," Hamilton said to the dog. He followed up with a command. The dog held out the ball. Hamilton took it, wiped the dog slobber off it on his utility pants, and put it away. The dog watched it go, then dropped down on his haunches. Ears up, eyes bright, he was clearly back on the job.

"What happened then?" Gibbs asked.

"After I got him off her and got her calmed down, I asked her why she hadn't gone home. She said she couldn't, that she was in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Gibbs asked.

Here, Hamilton hesitated again. But Gibbs was certain it wasn't rooted in deception this time. "I can't say. You need to talk to her," he said.

"Where is she?" Fornell asked again, and Gibbs gave him a look that said: back off.

"What happened then?" Gibbs asked.

"After Daniel got out of the shower, I talked to him. He said she was afraid to go home. Begged me to do something. Pulled out the 'Marines protect the innocent' card." He sighed.

"I talked to her for a while. She has good reason to be afraid to go home, but it's not like I could let her stay with us. She said she and Daniel had found a place she could go, but she needed money to get there. I gave it to her."

* * *

...to be continued...

Sorry for the break point. I have GOT to learn to write shorter chapters. :)

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	7. Chapter 7 - We've Got a Problem

**Chapter Seven - We've Got a Problem**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_From Last Chapter:_

_"Where is she?" Fornell asked again, and Gibbs gave him a look that said: back off._

_"What happened then?" Gibbs asked._

_"After Daniel got out of the shower, I talked to him. He said she was afraid to go home. Begged me to do something. Pulled out the 'Marines protect the innocent' card." He sighed._

_"I talked to her for a while. She has good reason to be afraid to go home, but it's not like I could let her stay with us. She said she and Daniel had found a place she could go, but she needed money to get there. I gave it to her."_

* * *

"Where's she going?" Gibbs asked. He sensed that Hamilton wasn't holding back for the sake of it. Whatever Amaya's reasons for not wanting to go home, they were legitimate, at least in the mind of this Marine. The important part was finding her. Then they could ask her themselves.

Hamilton sighed again. "There's a refugee shelter in the City that's agreed to take her. I checked it out online. It's legit."

"A legitimate shelter willing to take an out-of-state 16 year old?" Gibbs asked skeptically.

"The kids told them she's 18. It's not like those places ask for ID."

"It won't work," Fornell said. "They'll take one look at her and know she's underage."

"It's the best shot she's got," Hamilton argued. "If she goes home, her father will kill her."

"Now why would he do that?" Fornell asked. "Her father seemed pretty upset that she was missing."

"Of course he did," Hamilton said with disdain. "She belongs to him, and he doesn't know where she is. I'm sure it's really tearing him up."

"When's she leaving?" Gibbs asked.

"On the 1900 train. The Capitol lines are packed weekdays. It was the first ticket we could get her."

"So where is she now?"

"You can't just take her back," Hamilton said. "You've got to hear her side of it."

"We will," Gibbs said. "And if she's in actual danger, we'll protect her."

"How? Her father's obviously got enough pull to make you jump. It's just her word against his. It's not like there's evidence of anything." The Marine was getting agitated, and so was the dog. Rufus was shifting back and forth on his front paws, occasionally adjusting his position like he was ready to leap at something. He kept considering the feds, then consulting Hamilton, like he wasn't sure where the threat was, but was ready to take them on if the word was given.

"He's abusing her, isn't he?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Yes. But that's not the biggest part of it."

"What is the biggest part of it?" Fornell asked. He, too, had modulated his voice.

Hamilton shook his head. "I can't."

"You said there's no evidence. Yet you believed her. Why?" Gibbs asked.

"She's just a kid, an innocent. I've been through the best police services training the Marines have to offer. There's no way she could lie about that and I wouldn't know it."

"If that's the case, why wouldn't we believe her?" Gibbs asked. "If he's hurting her, we'll stop it. We'll protect her."

"I really hope you can," he said finally and shook his head. It was clear he didn't hold out much hope. "She's still at my house. I told Daniel to stay with her. He's going to ride into the City with her tonight, come back in the morning."

"You agreed to let a couple of kids go up to New York City alone?" Fornell asked incredulously.

"Don't be stupid," Hamilton said derisively, and Gibbs hid a smile. Of course the Marine had a better plan than that. "I've got a buddy stationed at West Point. He'll meet them at the train station, put them up for the night, make sure Amy gets to the shelter before putting Daniel back on the train."

Fornell had bristled at the Marine's tone. "You have any idea how much trouble you're in, Sergeant?" he asked. Gibbs threw him a glare, but the FBI man ignored him. "Giving a minor money so she can run away from her parents, across state lines. At a minimum, it's contributing to the delinquency of a minor and custodial interference. Hell, if I gave it a little thought, I could probably make a case for kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?" Hamilton said, his voice rising again. "I didn't kidnap her. I didn't even know she was in my house."

Rufus growled low in his throat and stood. He clearly did not like the emotional temperature of the conversation. Hamilton said something to him and he settled. Sort of.

"Assuming you're telling us the truth, we're not going to arrest you," Gibbs said, more to Fornell than to the Marine. "You're just doing what you think is right."

"That's right," Hamilton said. "I'm trying to protect her."

"And I understand that," Gibbs said. "We'll get her side of the story, then make a decision."

Gibbs phone rang in his pocket. The dog's attention snapped to the shrill ring. Gibbs pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Ziva.

"Gibbs, we have a problem," Ziva said when Gibbs answered.

"What?"

"We are at Daniel's house. Daniel is here, and so is Amaya."

"So what's the problem?" Gibbs asked. Fornell's gaze narrowed. Gibbs turned away from him.

"He has a gun, and he is threatening to shoot us if we do not leave them alone. He has already fired at Tony once."

**7-7-7-7-7**

DiNozzo and David pulled up in front of a small white townhouse at the end of a row on the grounds of the Bellevue Military Housing complex. The complex was adjacent to the grounds of the Research Lab, but was an independent facility. It had been built 15 years before and as military housing went, it wasn't bad. The units were mostly two-story townhouses, with either two or three bedrooms. They'd been designed for enlisted personnel with either young children or no children at all. It wasn't as large as the one Amaya's family lived in, but for a Marine and his kid brother, it was plenty of space.

DiNozzo parked the Charger and they got out. The street was quiet in the middle of the day. Adults were either working or sleeping, children were in school. There weren't many stay-at-home moms among the enlisted ranks. They moved up the driveway and across a small sidewalk to the porch. Ziva rang the bell. It echoed in the house. They waited.

"He might not be here," Ziva said.

"Where else would he be?" DiNozzo asked.

"They might have gone somewhere together." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain in the small window next to the door flutter. When she turned to look, there was no one there.

"Did you see that?" Ziva asked. When DiNozzo shook his head, Ziva explained: "Someone peeked out the window."

"Guess that means he's here," DiNozzo said. Ziva rang the bell again and they waited another minute. Tony moved over to the window and cupped his hands around his eyes, trying to see through the almost-sheer curtain. Nothing.

The door cracked open and a young man looked out between the screen door and the main door. They couldn't see into the house through the small gap he left between the doors, and they couldn't see much of him.

"Yes?" he said.

"DiNozzo, David, NCIS," DiNozzo said. He flashed his badge. "Are you Daniel Hamilton?"

"Yes," he repeated. "Can I help you?"

"May we come in?" DiNozzo asked.

"No," Daniel said.

The agents looked at one another.

"No?" DiNozzo asked, surprise clear in his voice. There was silence from the other side of the screen door.

"We just have a few questions to ask you, about a friend of yours. Amaya Aziz," Ziva said.

More silence, and then the screen door pushed open and a teenager in jeans and an oversized white t-shirt stepped out. He was small for a 17-year-old, maybe an inch shorter than Ziva, and no more than 110 pounds. His hair was a close-cropped afro, colored an unnatural shade of reddish-brown. His skin was chocolate brown, and he had the beginnings of a moustache above his lip. His voice had already changed, meaning his chances of getting more than an inch or two taller were pretty slim. Poor kid, DiNozzo thought.

As he stepped out of the house, Daniel pulled the inner door shut. The screen door bounced against its frame behind him. The sound stirred something deep in DiNozzo's memory, but he didn't think it was related to the case, so he ignored it.

"Hi. I'm Special Agent DiNozzo, this is Special Agent David," Tony reintroduced them. "You go by Daniel, right?"

"That's my name," he said with a bit of teenager attitude. Not much, just a bit. He leaned back against the porch wall and crossed his arms over his chest. DiNozzo noticed he was wearing a Naval Academy ring. Must be the father's.

"Yes it is. Have you seen Amaya today?" DiNozzo asked.

"No," Daniel said immediately. And just like that, they knew he was lying to them. It was clear by the way he was standing, the expression of insecurity on his face, the sudden slight elevation in his breathing rate.

"You have not seen her today?" Ziva confirmed.

"I said I hadn't," Daniel said. A slight increase in attitude. Daring them to prove otherwise.

"When did you last see her?" Tony asked.

"Yesterday," Daniel said. "Last night, actually."

"Where?" Tony asked.

"Here. We were studying."

"Studying," Tony said with a smile.

"Yes, studying. For a history exam. She's helping me."

"How late was she here?" Tony asked.

"Until, like, 10:00. Then my brother came home and said she had to leave."

"How'd she get home?" Tony asked.

There was another hesitation before Daniel said: "She took the Metro."

"You let a young lady take the Metro after dark, alone?" Ziva asked. "That does not seem right."

"I walked with her to the station," Daniel said defensively. But he was still lying.

"What station was that?" Tony asked. "You should both be on the security cameras at the entrance. I can bring that up right now." He pulled out his smartphone and started tapping. He couldn't actually do that, not right here right now, but he was betting the kid didn't know that.

"Wait, no. I'm sorry," Daniel said. Bingo, DiNozzo thought. "I forgot. I drove her home. I dropped her off in front of her house. I walked her to the Metro last time we studied late."

The agents silently conferred, and DiNozzo again told Ziva to take it.

"Daniel, why are you lying to us?" Ziva asked gently.

"I'm not lying," Daniel insisted.

"Yes you are," Ziva said. "Do you know where Amy is?"

"No," Daniel said. "I don't."

"I think you do," Ziva said. "She is not in any trouble. We just need to talk to her."

"I don't know where she is," Daniel said. "Really."

DiNozzo sighed. He'd heard enough. "Daniel, we know she's here," he said firmly, stating it as absolute fact.

"She's not," Daniel insisted. His eyes flashed, still challenging, trying to project confidence, but afraid.

"Yeah, she is," DiNozzo said. "You've got two choices here. You can either go get her and we can talk, or we can come in and search for her ourselves. I don't think your brother's going to like a couple of NCIS agents pawing through his house. Do you?"

Daniel looked back and forth between them, then seemed to wilt. "Fine. Give me a minute." He opened the screen door and went inside. As he made to close the main door behind himself, DiNozzo shouldered open the screen and stuck his foot in the opening.

"Let's just be sure we don't accidentally lock this door, shall we?" DiNozzo said. Daniel gave him a look that could melt ice.

"Stay outside," he said firmly.

DiNozzo nodded, and the kid went up the stairs next to the door. DiNozzo pushed the door all the way open and stepped back, letting the screen bang shut again.

They waited, watching the minutes tick by. There were sounds from upstairs: footsteps, a door closing, a murmur of low voices too indistinct to make out, what sounded like something heavy moving across the floor, then silence. A full minute passed.

"Daniel?" DiNozzo called. Nothing. "Daniel! We're coming in."

"Are there other stairs?" Ziva asked.

"No. But there might be a window around back low enough to jump out of. Go." He gestured her around the house. Ziva took off. Behind the row of houses was another, identical row, with adjoining backyards between them. Being at the end of the row, she could go to the fence at the end of the block and immediately see if Daniel and Amaya were in the yards, or if they had jumped the fence and were on the street.

DiNozzo entered the house. If they'd come back downstairs, they'd have had to pass the screen door. So they were either upstairs, or had gone out the window. He jogged up the stairs.

"Daniel? Amaya? You guys up here?"

The stairs ran toward the rear of the house, and the hall at the top switched back toward the front. There was a closed bedroom door straight ahead at the top. Along the hall was another door – probably a bathroom – a narrow folding closet door, and the second bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway at the front of the house. All the doors were closed. So. Where to start?

"Daniel? You need to talk to me, kid." No response.

Usually, when searching a building, he'd have his gun out and be moving cautiously. But these weren't bad guys he was searching for. It was a runaway teenage girl and her well-meaning boyfriend. He didn't figure a gun was required. He pushed open the nearest door.

It was the brother's bedroom. There was a present but not offensive dog smell, a large dog bed in one corner. He left the door open behind himself, dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. Nothing. Keeping an ear on the hallway, he slid open the walk-in closet door. Clothes, shoes, a space heater, other assorted junk people like to keep handy. A large gun safe at one end, door standing open. He looked into it. Handguns on shelves, long guns on racks. Not all the spaces were occupied, and he couldn't tell what, if anything, was missing. He returned to the hall.

"Daniel?" he called out again. Still no response. He opened the door to the hall closet. Stacked shelves, linens, no room to hide anyone. He closed it again.

DiNozzo's cell rang. He pulled it out as he opened the bathroom door.

"There is no one back here," Ziva said. "It is possible for them to make the jump, but the second floor windows appear to be tightly closed."

"Copy that," DiNozzo whispered. "Come back." He put the phone away.

"C'mon, kid," DiNozzo called again. "We know you're in here. Just come out, and let's figure this out." He went into the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain. Nothing. So, it was the kid's bedroom.

Returning to the hall, DiNozzo paused. He didn't like the silence of the house. What did the kids think the agents were going to do, just give up and leave? The open gun safe really bothered him, too. If the kid had a gun, things could go real bad, real fast. DiNozzo decided he'd better wait for Ziva.

It took a couple of minutes, but he heard the door below open and Ziva's soft voice: "Tony?"

"Upstairs," he called back. She jogged up the steps.

"They're in there," DiNozzo said in a whisper, gesturing to the still-closed bedroom door.

"Are you certain?" Ziva responded in kind.

"It's the only place left," DiNozzo said.

"Why are you waiting?"

DiNozzo considered. "I don't know. There's something…" He shook his head. "You ready?"

When Ziva nodded, he stepped forward and put a hand on the door handle.

"Daniel? I'm coming in," he called. No answer. He turned the handle, pushing on it. The door opened half an inch, then hit something and stopped. DiNozzo shoved it, and the object moved a little. He put his shoulder against the door and shoved hard. The item moved further, the door opening a good ten inches. It was a dresser. DiNozzo shook his head and shoved again, pushing the dresser clear of the door.

"Daniel?" DiNozzo said one last time. There was still no response. He stepped into the room.

DiNozzo saw what he saw, and was reacting before his brain caught up with it. He hit the floor, reaching for his gun.

"Get out!" Daniel said loudly and fired the gun he was pointing in the general direction of the door. DiNozzo brought his gun up, but instead of firing, rolled away back out into the hall.

"He's got a gun," Tony said needlessly. Ziva had drawn her own Sig Sauer.

"No kidding," Ziva said. "What's he doing?"

"Besides shooting at me?" DiNozzo said and took a breath to ease the adrenalin rush. "He's standing in front of the closet with a really big gun. She must be in there."

"Go away!" Daniel yelled from inside the room. "I won't let you take her!"

"Put up the gun, Daniel," DiNozzo shouted from the hallway. "We're not going to hurt her. We just need to talk." He turned back to Ziva.

"Call Gibbs," he said.

**7-7-7-7-7**

"What?" Gibbs said in response to Ziva's explanation of the situation. "Stand down. Do not engage him, Ziva. We'll be right there." He clicked off and turned to Hamilton.

"Your brother's got a gun. He's threatening to shoot two of my agents."

"What?" Hamilton's exclamation was a perfect match to Gibbs'. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Not yet," Gibbs said. "He's fired one shot so far."

"Where'd he get a gun?" Fornell asked.

"He's got a hunting rifle, a .22. Or he might have one of mine."

"You don't lock up your weapons?" Fornell asked.

"Of course I do. Daniel knows how to access them. My god, we've got to get over there." He lunged down off the table, Rufus jumping to his side. Hamilton reached down and snagged the leash.

"Slow down, Sergeant. You can ride with us," Gibbs said.

"That dog's not riding in my car," Fornell said.

"He won't hurt you," Hamilton said, then smiled a little despite himself. "Unless I tell him to."

"Sergeant," Gibbs said with a slightly threatening tone. Hamilton shrugged, and Rufus whined a little.

"I'll take my truck."

"I'll come with you," Gibbs said. "Fornell can follow."

* * *

...to be continued...

Thank you to those who've reviewed. I love to hear from you, even when it's just a short note. joy


	8. Chapter 8 - Answers

**Chapter Eight - Answers**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_From last chapter:_

_Gibbs hung up and turned to Hamilton. "Your brother's got a gun. He's threatening to shoot two of my agents."_

_"My god, we've got to get over there." Hamilton lunged down off the table, Rufus jumping to his side. He reached down and snagged the leash._

_"Slow down, Sergeant. You can ride with us," Gibbs said._

_"That dog's not riding in my car," Fornell said._

_"He won't hurt you," Hamilton said, then smiled a little despite himself. "Unless I tell him to."_

_"Sergeant," Gibbs said with a slightly threatening tone. Hamilton shrugged, and Rufus whined a little._

_"I'll take my truck."_

_"I'll come with you," Gibbs said. "Fornell can follow."_

* * *

"Fine. Come on." Hamilton jogged over to the gatehouse, spoke briefly with the guard inside, then moved quickly to a dark Suburban. He opened the tailgate of the truck and the dog jumped up. He shoved it shut and moved to the driver's door, popping the locks. While Gibbs got in, Hamilton tore his rifle off over his head and slammed it into a rack between the two front seats, quickly snapping latches over the barrel and breech. That done, he jumped in and jammed the key into the ignition, threw the truck into drive and peeled out. Gibbs was impressed. Even in his panic, he'd still properly secured his weapon.

As they left the base, Hamilton clipped the curb and the truck jolted violently to the left.

"You don't have to drive so fast, Marine. My people won't let them get hurt," Gibbs said. Hamilton nodded, but didn't slow down.

Six minutes later, Hamilton swung into his driveway and slammed his truck to a stop. He jumped out, Gibbs on his heels. The dog went a little nuts in the back, not being able to follow them.

"Wait!" Gibbs said, and Hamilton hesitated half a step, but didn't stop moving. Fornell's car slid to a stop behind the truck.

"I said hold it, Sergeant!" Gibbs ordered, and this time, Hamilton rounded on him.

"I've got to get in there," Hamilton said.

"No, you've got to wait. Unless Daniel's a direct threat, my people will not hurt him. But if you go tearing in there, they might shoot you."

"So what, you expect me to just stand out here while you go in, guns blazing?" Fornell joined them on the walkway.

"No, I expect you act like the professional you are and help control the situation."

Hamilton looked at him, then took a breath and visibly settled.

"What do you need me to do?"

"First, put your gun away. I can't have you in this if you're armed."

Hamilton hesitated, then nodded. He drew his sidearm and returned to the truck, securing it in a lockbox under the driver's seat.

"Now follow me," Gibbs said. He turned toward the house. He briefly considered drawing his own weapon, but rejected it. The three guns up there were already three more than the situation called for.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs called softly from the open doorway.

"Up here, Boss," DiNozzo replied in a harsh whisper. Gibbs took a few steps up the staircase and looked over his shoulder at the switchback. DiNozzo was standing beside what looked to be a bathroom door, Ziva behind him inside the small room. There was an open bedroom door at that end of the hall, silence from within. Both agents had their guns out, but down. They could still hear the dog barking in the truck outside.

"He's in there," DiNozzo said, indicating the open door. "I think she's in the closet, that corner." He gestured toward the far corner of the bedroom. "He's standing in front of the closet with a .44."

"He's got the Magnum?" Hamilton said from his position just inside the house. The disbelief in his voice was clear. "He can't even hold that thing level."

"He seemed to be holding it just fine when he shot at me," DiNozzo argued.

"He fire again?" Gibbs asked.

"No. Just once, when I first opened the door," DiNozzo supplied.

"Any other way out of there?" Fornell asked from just behind Hamilton.

"The window," DiNozzo said.

"I confirmed it was closed while Tony was up here, and we have not heard it open since," Ziva said.

"Alright." Gibbs turned to the Marine. "Sergeant, you wanna try getting him to toss the gun?" Gibbs said. When Hamilton nodded, Gibbs motioned to him and started quietly up the stairs. He stopped before the bathroom door and leaned against the wall, gesturing for Hamilton to stand beside him. Fornell took a position at the top of the stairs near Hamilton's bedroom door. They were well out of the line of fire, should another gun go off.

"Alright, you're up," he told Hamilton. "We need the gun down, then we need him to step out with his hands up."

Hamilton nodded his understanding. "Danny! What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. "Put up the gun."

"Bobby! They're going to make her go back," Daniel called from inside. "I won't let them take her. I won't!" He sounded slightly hysterical.

"They're going to talk to her, hear her story before they do anything," Hamilton said. "They promised me that."

"But they're feds. You always said you can't trust the feds!"

Hamilton had the good grace to look embarrassed at that. "It's alright. This guy's different. He'll talk to her. He'll help. I swear. Put up the gun."

"He'll hurt her again. You know he will. She's got to get away. It's her only chance."

"Daniel, my name is Special Agent Gibbs, with NCIS," Gibbs called out. "We're going to do what we can to help Amy. But what you're doing isn't helping anyone."

"I need to protect her. No one else will," Daniel replied. His hysteria was easing a bit while he argued it out.

"We will protect her," Gibbs said. "You have my word."

"What good is that?" Daniel said. "I don't know you."

"Bärchen," Hamilton said. "He's alright. He's going to help. But you gotta do what he says. Put the gun down and come to the door. Do it now."

There was a moment of silence from the room. Then, softer: "It's not real."

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"Wait," Hamilton said, and turned away. In four steps, he pushed past Fornell into his own room, and ten seconds after that, he was back.

"It's a pellet gun."

"What?" DiNozzo said. "It sounded like gunfire!"

"It's an AEG Hybrid. It's supposed to. I use it for training."

"You're sure?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah. I've only got one Desert Eagle, and it's still in the safe. Along with all my other lethals. If you saw a .44, it's an airsoft."

"Where's his .22?" Fornell asked.

"It's on a rack in the garage."

"Go be sure it's still there," Gibbs instructed.

"Don't move, Bärchen," Hamilton called to his brother. "I gotta go check something. I'll be right back. You hear me? Don't move."

"Okay," Daniel called back. Hamilton dashed down the stairs.

"What does that mean?" DiNozzo whispered to no one in particular. It was Ziva that answered.

"It means 'Little Bear.' It is a German term of endearment."

Hamilton reappeared. "It's still there. He's only got the airsoft."

Gibbs nodded, and both DiNozzo and David holstered their weapons. Gibbs stepped to the doorway, took a breath, then looked around the corner.

Daniel was leaning against the closet door, hugging himself. The gun was on the bed. It certainly looked real. Gibbs moved into the room and picked it up. The weight of the weapon told the story: It was about a quarter the weight of its legitimate counterpart. Gibbs set it aside.

"Show me your hands, Daniel," he said calmly. The kid put his hands out to his side, palms showing.

"You can't send her back. He'll kill her," Daniel said.

"I understand. Step over here."

For a second, it looked like Daniel would refuse. Then, he pushed off the closet door and came toward him, hands still out. Gibbs stepped forward and took hold of his shoulder, turning him around. He pulled Daniel's hands behind his body and held them both in one hand. He quickly and gently frisked him. Clean.

"Go to your brother," he said, and released the kid.

"Please don't hurt her," Daniel begged.

"I won't. Go." He pushed Daniel toward the door. Hamilton stepped into the doorway and took him in a hug.

"Amaya? It's alright. I'm going to open the door." Gibbs reached for the door knob, then paused. "Is she armed?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No," Daniel said.

"There's nothing else missing out of the safe," Hamilton confirmed. "If she's got anything, it's non-lethal."

Gibbs nodded and opened the closet door.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, her head down. She was rocking slightly and mumbling something. Prayers, Gibbs quickly realized.

"Amy? I'm Gibbs. Are you alright?" he asked softly. She stopped rocking and looked up at him. Her face was streaked with tears and the fear in her eyes was painful. Gibbs crouched down in front of her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. She shook her head. Her hair was uncovered, tied in two braids. She looked about 12 years old.

"I need you to come out here so we can talk, figure this out. Is that okay?" She shook her head again and pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Gibbs pressed his back against the open closet door and walked his feet out, sliding to the floor. He was years past the ability to squat comfortably for any length of time.

"Okay. How 'bout we talk here. Would that be alright?" She looked at him, then nodded hesitantly.

"How come you didn't go home last night?" Gibbs asked. It was as good a place as any to start.

There was fifteen seconds of silence before Amaya finally spoke. "I can't go home. Ever," she said. Her voice was as small as she was. Gibbs noted two things immediately: she had only a trace of an accent, and she used contractions. She'd obviously caught on to American speech styles more quickly than anyone else in her family.

"Why not?" Gibbs asked. Amy shook her head.

"I talked to Sadie." Her head snapped up, and she blinked rapidly several times. A few more fat tears fell.

"She's really worried about you. She asked me to bring you home."

"What did she tell you?" Amy asked.

"She told us about Daniel. She gave us your cell phone number. We tried to call you."

"The battery died," she said.

"We figured. She gave us kisses."

Amy smiled a little. "They're her favorite."

"That's what she said. She also said she didn't want you to get into trouble again."

Amy reached for one of her braids and started twisting it around her finger. She said nothing.

"You know, everyone we talked to said you were a really good kid. I don't think you're the kind who gets into trouble a lot."

Amy shrugged, but said nothing. She pulled the end of her braid into her mouth and sucked on it.

"Amy, why can't you go home? Are you scared?" She nodded.

"Why? What's going to happen if you go home?" She shook her head. A tough nut, this one.

In the doorway, Hamilton and Daniel had a brief whispered conversation, then Hamilton pushed Daniel back into the hall. He gestured to Gibbs, asking if he could come over. Gibbs nodded. Hamilton did. He crouched on the opposite side of the closet door, looking in.

"Hey Amy. You alright?" he asked, his voice and manner gentle. She nodded.

"This guy's not scaring you, is he?" She shrugged. "He's a good guy. He promised me and Daniel he would listen to you, and do what he could to help. But you gotta tell him the truth."

"I don't want to," Amy said. "I'm scared."

"I know you are, Sweetheart. Me too, a little."

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah, really. You remember what I told you this morning? About what might happen to me and Daniel if we helped you?" She nodded gravely.

"That might still happen. And that scares me a little. But we were willing to risk it, to get you somewhere safe."

"I know," Amaya said softly.

"You're not going to be able to go to New York. The cops got involved too soon. But I think Gibbs can help you. Maybe he can help Sadie, too."

"Can you?" Amy asked Gibbs. "Can you help us?"

"We'll do everything we can do to protect you," Gibbs said. "I promise."

Amy took a deep breath. She pulled her hair out of her mouth. She used the heel of her hand to wipe her eyes.

"He's going to kill me," she said finally.

"Who?" Gibbs asked.

"Father."

Gibbs paused, considering. "You know, Amy, I know a lot of fathers. Some good ones, some not so good. But I can't imagine anything a daughter could do that would make a father kill her."

Amy shook her head again. "You don't understand," she said.

"Help me understand," Gibbs said.

She sighed, then straightened up and pushed the blanket back off her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of loose sweat pants and a school football jersey. Probably Daniel's. She put her hands on the jersey just below her breasts and ran them down. Pulling the loose material taunt over a bump in her belly. Damn.

"Ah," Gibbs said, for want of anything else. "Your father doesn't know."

She shook her head. "He'll kill me if he finds out," she said, and new tears spilled out of her swollen eyes. She pulled the blanket back up again.

"He's probably going to be disappointed, maybe even angry," Gibbs acknowledged. "But families get through these things."

She shook her head again and hugged herself. "You don't understand," she repeated in a whisper.

"Explain it to me," he said. She hesitated again.

"Tell him, Sweetheart, it's okay," Hamilton said quietly.

For a minute, Gibbs thought she would remain silent. Then she started talking so softly Gibbs had to strain to hear. "I'm supposed to marry a man, in Afghanistan. The mahr has already been paid. It requires I be pure. A virgin. We can't afford to pay it back. The shame I will bring to my family is too great. He won't have a choice. Father will have to kill me, to restore our family's honor."

"The marriage was arranged before you came to Washington?" Gibbs asked.

"When I was 12," she said. "My father promised me to a man in our village, a year before we came here. The man didn't want me to come to America, but Father insisted I was too young to marry yet. Father said the marriage would take place when we returned." More tears.

Gibbs closed his eyes for a second, clenching his jaw and taking a deep, slow breath in and out through his nose. He reminded himself that Islam had been functioning this way for at least a thousand years, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. But there had to be something he could do for this girl.

"You see why you can't send her home," Hamilton said.

"I certainly see we've got a problem," Gibbs agreed. "Is that why you went to the doctor last week?"

Amy frowned, then understanding dawned. "I didn't go to the doctor. That was a lie."

"So your father didn't know you missed school?" Gibbs asked.

"No." She hesitated, then looked at Hamilton with eyes full of sorrow. "I made Daniel do it, it wasn't his fault."

"What?" Hamilton asked.

"We didn't really go to the museum. Please don't be mad."

Hamilton nodded his understanding. "It's alright, Amy. I know things have been really hard."

Gibbs looked at Hamilton questioningly.

"They told me they wanted to go to the American History Museum to see a lecture series that was only available during the week. Daniel said Amy's father would never let her go. They'd been working so hard on that class, I figured what could it hurt? I called the school, pretended to be her father, told them she had a doctor's appointment." He turned back to Amaya. "Where did you guys go?"

"We went to visit a home for teen mothers in Alexandria. We thought I could live there. But they wanted my birth certificate, and they wanted me to get permission from my parents. So we came home. Why won't anyone help me?"

"We're going to help you, Amy," Gibbs said. "I promise."

Amy sighed a little, like she just wasn't sure.

"What happened when your father caught you sneaking out last fall?" Gibbs asked.

"I was punished," Amy said.

"How?" Gibbs asked. She hesitated.

"Tell him, Amy," Hamilton said.

"I received 10 lashes."

"You were beaten?" Gibbs asked, wanting to be clear. She nodded.

"As required by Sharia Law. Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"It wasn't as bad. The Law says a switch should be used, no bigger than a man's thumb. He used a belt instead. It was less harsh." Gibbs felt a rock settle into his stomach. It was as DiNozzo had suspected.

"Where did he beat you?" Gibbs asked, fighting hard to keep his voice from betraying his anger.

"On my back. As the Law requires."

"Did it break the skin?"

"Only in a few places," Amy said. "It wasn't bad. It would have been much worse if we'd been at home."

Gibbs heard Hamilton's breath catch beside him. Amy hesitantly reached out and touched Gibbs' knee with the tips of her fingers.

"Don't be angry with Father. He was raised to be a follower of the Law. He is only doing what is required of him. But I don't want to die."

"We're not going to let that happen," Gibbs said. He patted the back of her hand. "We're going to do whatever's necessary to keep you safe. Okay?"

She nodded, though it was clear Gibbs still had some convincing to do. She put her hands back on her belly.

"Is that why you missed a week of school?" Gibbs asked after a minute. "Because of the beating?"

Amy shrugged. "Partly. I was confined to my room for a week. Father said I needed to study the Quran, concentrate on reaffirming my faith. I spent the week in my room with the Book, and nothing else. In that time, I healed."

"Then when you went back to school, your father had your brother start escorting you around," Gibbs said.

"Yes. Only Yameen didn't like it. After a while, we made a deal: I pay him to leave me alone, when I think we can get away with it."

"Smart girl," Gibbs said with a gentle smile. "How much do you pay him?"

"Two dollars each time."

"That's how you were able to get away last night," Gibbs said.

"Yes. I told him I was going to meet with a friend instead of going to piano practice. He left me after lunch. I told him to meet me back at the music room after lessons. That gave me an hour after last class to get away." She paused. "I hope he didn't tell Father. I don't want him to get into trouble."

"I think your secret's safe," Gibbs said. "This is the first we've heard of money changing hands."

"Good. He is a good boy. He's trying to live two lives, just like me. It's harder for Yameen, though: Father expects him to learn to be a man like him. But Yameen has doubts. I know he does. Maybe you can help him, too?"

"Why don't you come out of the closet, and we'll see what we can figure out. For all of you."

She nodded, and started to try and stand. Only the space was too small, and her balance was off. Her legs tangled in the blanket and she started to fall. Hamilton sprung up from his crouch, reached past Gibbs and grabbed her under the arms as she fell into him.

"Ooff," he said as he caught her. "That's one healthy baby you've got growing in there," he said, and she smiled through her tears.

"I hope so. Allah willing, I hope so."

"Have you seen a doctor at all?" Gibbs asked. He managed to push himself back up the door and get to his own feet with only a few twinges in his old knees. Hamilton pulled her under one arm.

"No. But I've been researching on the internet, and trying to do what they say, to keep my baby healthy." Now that she was standing, the bump in her belly wasn't as prominent under her too-big clothes, but still not something you'd miss. He wondered how she'd managed to keep it a secret for so long.

The Marine and the girl moved toward the doorway where Daniel stepped in to meet them. Hamilton let her go and Daniel hugged Amy to himself. Hamilton stepped around them into the hallway.

"I'm so sorry," Daniel whispered to her. "I tried to keep them away from you."

"I know," she said. "You were brave, like a lion." They turned to leave the bedroom and Amy suddenly stopped short, nervous at so many people filling up the small space.

"It's alright, Amy," Gibbs said, coming up behind her. "They're all with me. That's Tony, and Ziva. The ugly guy is FBI Agent Fornell, but don't hold that against him. He's okay, too."

Amy looked at them all, a little wide-eyed. In turn, the three feds tried not to stare at her bulging belly.

"You were all looking for me?" she asked, amazed.

"We were," DiNozzo said kindly. "We wanted to be sure you were safe."

"She's safer with me than at home," Daniel said. "You can't send her back."

"Enough, Danny," Hamilton said, and gently cuffed him on the back of the head. "They'll do what they can."

"How 'bout we all go down to the Navy Yard, start getting this figured out?" Gibbs said. He honestly wasn't sure where to go from here, but there were some priorities. First, get the girl checked out, be sure she was medically okay. Then, they'd have to deal with the issue of the beating last fall, and how to stop what might happen this time. Because one thing was certain: This kid wasn't going back to that house unless Gibbs was sure she'd be safe.

* * *

...to be continued...

Looking forward to the feedback on this one. Don't forget: Reviews keep the muse flowing. joy


	9. Chapter 9 - Enter Ducky

**Chapter Nine - Enter Ducky**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Amy said she wanted to change clothes before she left the house. The adults left her to it. Gibbs sent DiNozzo and David back to the Navy Yard in the Charger, and after a second's thought, told them to wait for him in the parking lot. He would ride back with the Hamiltons. He'd briefly considered, then rejected, telling the brothers to stay home. He was pretty sure Amy wasn't ready to face this without her support system. Such as it was.

Gibbs told Fornell that since the girl was no longer missing, his presence was no longer required. Even as Fornell agreed and got into his car, both senior agents knew he would keep his finger in the pot, to be sure Amy was alright.

Rufus had been cooped up in the truck and was eager to escape. While they waited for Amy to reappear, Hamilton released the dog and played with him a bit in the driveway. Gibbs took the opportunity to call Dr. Donald "Ducky" Mallard, their team's medical examiner.

Ducky had joined NCIS about the same time Gibbs had. It was a retirement career for the older man: He'd emigrated to the U.S. after a 20-year career with the British Royal Navy. Over the years the two men had grown very close. Gibbs had been an angry young man when they first met, less than a year removed from losing his chosen career and his family all in the same day. He'd been functioning – barely – but not because he wanted to: Only because he'd had no choice. Ducky had started poking him, gently at first, then more insistently as Gibbs had refused to emerge from his funk. The medical examiner didn't know the cause of Gibbs' anger – Gibbs had kept that secret for many years – but it didn't matter. He saw the potential for greatness in the recently retired Marine, and refused to let him destroy himself. It took a few years, and the death of the man responsible for the loss of his family, but Gibbs had found himself beginning to look forward to coming to work. He credited Ducky as much as anyone for helping him begin to live again.

Ducky knew more about Gibbs life – and health – than anyone else on the planet. He often played the role of field medic for Gibbs and his team. When injuries occurred, as they often did in the dangerous world of federal law enforcement, it was Ducky who checked them out and decided if ambulances and hospitals were required. He figured Ducky was the right man for this job, too.

"Hey Ducky," he said when he had the man on the line. "I need an OB-GYN, one that's not going to ask a lot of questions." There was a long silence.

"Oh, Jethro, aren't you a little old to be making mistakes like that?" Ducky said. For a second, Gibbs didn't follow, then he had to laugh.

"Geez, Duck. It's not for me."

"Oh good. I thought I was going to have to have 'the talk' with you," Ducky said with his own laugh. "Who's the patient?"

"Sixteen-year-old girl, formerly a missing person. She's very pregnant and hasn't been to a doctor yet."

"And I assume there's a valid reason she can't go to her family doctor?"

"There is. Can you help us out?"

"I'm sure I can find something. Anything else I need to know?"

Gibbs thought for a second. "There're some culture issues. A female would be better. As soon as possible."

"I'll see what I can do."

When Amy emerged from the house a few minutes later, she was wearing a dark green garment very similar to her mother's that covered her from neck to toe, wrists to ankles. Unlike her mother, she was not wearing a veil, and her hands were bare. A head covering wrapped around her neck and over her shoulders. Together, the garments neatly disguised the clothes she was presumably still wearing underneath and her pregnancy. That answered the question of how she'd managed to keep it secret so long, Gibbs figured.

"It's cold," Amy said when she noticed Gibbs looking at her. "The abaya is warm."

"And it's how you kept your baby a secret," Gibbs replied. She shrugged, the most normal gesture he'd seen her make so far.

Back at the Navy Yard, Gibbs had Hamilton pull in next to where DiNozzo and David were waiting. They all climbed out of the truck. Daniel took Amy under his arm again. He wasn't very tall, but neither was she, so it worked out. Hamilton left the engine running and went around to the tailgate. The dog was ready to leap down and join his handler, but a firm word from Hamilton made him whine a little, then drop to his belly. Hamilton gave him the ball to chew on, then locked him inside.

"DiNozzo, take Sgt. Hamilton to the conference room and get his statement. I want to know everything he knows."

"You got it, Boss," DiNozzo said.

"What are you going to do with them?" Hamilton asked suspiciously, gesturing to the teens.

"We have a doctor on staff. Amy needs a checkup." He didn't mention he'd probably be taking them to a clinic somewhere. He had other problems to deal with.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Daniel said. Like that problem, Gibbs thought. He could hear the nerves in the kid's voice, but gave him credit for his continuing attempts at protecting his girlfriend, however unnecessary they were. They'd have a conversation about the wisdom of pointing a gun at the cops when Gibbs could get him alone.

"It's alright. You can stay with her as long as she wants you to," Gibbs said. The two teenagers silently checked with one another.

"Is that alright?" Daniel asked Amy. The girl seemed hesitant.

"We need to be sure your baby's okay," Gibbs said. "Just a quick checkup. Daniel will stay with you."

Another minute of silent communication, and Amy nodded. "Okay," she said quietly.

"Good," Gibbs said. "Tony, go."

The agent and the Marine went into the building, Hamilton looking back over his shoulder at them just before he went inside. Once they were gone, Gibbs turned his attention back to the teenagers.

"Ziva is going to take you to an obstetrician's office, to make sure everything's okay with you and the baby," Gibbs said. "She's going to make sure you eat, and she'll bring you back here when you're done. Is that okay?"

"That's not what you told my brother," Daniel objected.

"Your brother and I are going to figure out how to best help Amaya. By the time you get back, we should have some answers," Gibbs said, sidestepping the question. "I just want to be sure the baby's okay. Don't you want to know, Amy?"

She nodded. She obviously wasn't thrilled, but she was willing to go along.

"Let's get to the car," Gibbs said. They stepped over to the Charger and Ziva unlocked it, settling the kids in the back.

"Ziva, a word?" Gibbs said when the doors were closed on them. They stepped a few feet away.

"Where am I taking them?" Ziva asked.

"I'm gonna get a name from Ducky. I'll call you in a few minutes. I don't want her seen inside."

"Alright," she said. "May I ask why I am doing this?"

"I want someone with her during the exam, so we know everything the doctor says. It's got to be you."

Ziva nodded her understanding. "The doctor may not allow me to breach privacy that way," she cautioned.

"Tell them she's in custody, that usually works. And be sure the doctor checks for signs of physical abuse. We're going to need all the ammunition we can get."

"I will do my best," Ziva said.

"I know you will," Gibbs said firmly. "I'll call you in a minute."

Gibbs jogged into the building and took the elevator down two floors to the autopsy suite.

"You got that name for me, Ducky?" Gibbs asked as the doors swooshed open in front of him.

"I do. Dr. Darolia, a specialist in adolescent obstetrics, is waiting for you to arrive," Ducky said, and handed Gibbs a piece of paper. Gibbs took his glasses out of his breast pocket and read the address. Washington Hospital Center. The largest private hospital in D.C., and home to a state-of-the-art maternity facility rated among the best in the country.

"Really?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing but the best for friends of ours," Ducky said, then smiled. "Dr. Darolia lost a bet at the 'Doctors in the District' fundraising ball last year. She owes me."

Gibbs sensed there was a story there, but didn't want to ask. "Thanks." He pulled out his phone and called Ziva, relaying the information. As soon as he hung up, Ducky spoke again.

"Now, would you care to explain what's going on?" he said with a smile. "Not that you need to tell me, but I must say my curiosity is getting the better of me."

Gibbs gave the doctor the short story. Sixteen years old, pregnant, ran away from home, spent the night in her boyfriend's closet, who happened to be a Marine dependent.

Ducky sighed, shaking his head. "And why hasn't she been to a doctor yet?" he asked. "These days, you don't need a family doctor to get medical attention. She could go to any number of clinics in Washington and her parents need never know."

"It's complicated. She's Muslim, an Afghani citizen. Her father's a contract instructor at Anacostia-Bolling."

"Oh my," Ducky said. "That does complicate things."

"That's not all of it," Gibbs said. "What do you know about children promised in marriage in Afghanistan?"

Gibbs leaned back against of the autopsy tables. Ducky did likewise on the facing table.

"It's a common practice among many sects of Islam," Ducky said. "Usually the girl is promised in marriage to an older teenager or young adult, and a price is paid to the family of the girl. Is it thought of by some to be a 'selling' of the child, and in poor, rural areas, that can be true. But historically, it's merely a gift, to show that the man values the girl, and the children she will bring him."

"When does the actual marriage take place?" Gibbs asked.

"In modern cities, it takes place when the girl reaches the age of majority. It varies by country, but I believe in Afghanistan, it is 18 for both boys and girls."

"What about in rural areas?" Gibbs asked.

"In India, the marriage can take place as soon as the promise is made. But there's no sexual relations involved until the girl is of age. In other countries, marriage and relations can happen as soon as the girl is deemed to have reached sexual maturity."

"So, what, 16, 17?"

"Occasionally as young as 12 or 13," Ducky said. He held up a hand before Gibbs could voice his objection. "I know, Jethro. There's nothing sexually mature about a 12-year-old girl. But culture can make a big difference. Some cultures believe a girl is sexually mature as soon as her menses begins, be it at 11 or 15." He paused. "But before we get into the morals and ethics of that debate, why don't we talk about this girl."

"She was promised to a man in Afghanistan, before they came here. Money changed hands."

"Oh, dear," Ducky said. "That does make the baby a problem."

"She's convinced the father will have no choice but to kill her for shaming the family."

There were a few moments of silence while Ducky considered that. "She might be right."

"What?" Gibbs exclaimed.

"Depending on their position in their community, what religious sect they belong to, and their level of adherence to the strictures of Sharia, it may very well be the only way of removing the shame this has brought."

"She's a teenage girl. She got a little carried away fooling around with a boy. Since when does that require a death sentence?" Gibbs demanded.

"As soon as the mahr was paid, it was her responsibility to remain pure until her wedding night," Ducky said. "She should not have even been alone with a boy, much less having sex with one, and the fact that she did means she must suffer the consequences, as demanded by her culture."

Gibbs turned to his old friend, a look of disbelief on his face. "You don't actually believe that crap, do you?"

"Of course not, Jethro. And I'm frankly a little insulted you asked," the doctor said reproachfully. "I'm all about respecting culture, as you well know. But not when it comes to hurting children. She should not have been fooling around, but then neither should any teenager, in my opinion. Nonetheless, at that age, hormones will trump reason virtually every time." Ducky shook his head and sighed.

"Children make mistakes. That's why they have parents. In our culture, when a girl comes up pregnant, there is recrimination, there is shame and disappointment, but there is rarely death. Islam is different. If she goes back home, she might very well be put to death."

"So how do we stop it?" Gibbs asked.

"Talk to the father, see how fundamental he actually is. If the mahr is returned, it might ease the shame enough that the death can be avoided. If not, if there's true risk of death, she can probably get refugee status here, and never have to return to Afghanistan."

"I'm more concerned about returning her to her family, here. We already know the father beat her for sneaking out…" Gibbs paused, suddenly putting it together. He counted backwards on his fingers.

"Last fall. She snuck out, went her school's homecoming dance, got caught when she tried to sneak back in. That must've been when she got pregnant." He looked back up at Ducky. "That time she got a beating that cost her a week's missed school. I'm betting the beating this time is going to cost her a lot more."

"Then you can't send her back," Ducky said.

"No kidding," Gibbs said.

"What about the baby's father?" Ducky asked. "If her father needs to cleanse the family's shame, but doesn't want to take that step, it might be good enough that she 'disappeared' while she was in America." He put finger quotes around the word. "The girl's father might let her go, if she had a place from whence she would not inconveniently return."

"The probable father of the baby is a 17-year-old kid, still in high school. He lives with his Marine brother, a Working Dog Handler over at the Naval Research Lab. The kid's trying to protect her, but there's not much he can do." Gibbs paused, and gave a small laugh. "He's sure as hell trying, though. He held DiNozzo off with a .44 Mag when he tried to take her away from him. Turned out to be a pellet gun."

Ducky grinned. "I assume you're going to hold that over his head awhile?"

"I'm sure Ziva will." Gibbs pushed off the table. "Even if she stays with them, at some point the Navy's going to move the brother, and they won't let the girl come along. If they're married, they're on their own as far as the Navy's concerned. If they're not, she's underage and no relation to the family." He took a breath. "What a mess."

"I might know of some helpful resources, if you need them," Ducky offered as Gibbs headed out.

"Make me a list. We're gonna need them."

* * *

... to be continued...

Thank you to all who've reviewed, and for those who are reading along but haven't chimed in. I appreciate hearing how I'm doing. Remember: Reviews keep writers writing! joy


	10. Chapter 10 - Vance

**Chapter Ten - Vance**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs took the elevator back upstairs, getting off on the first floor to walk outside and three doors down to his coffee dealer. He drank a lot more coffee than he supposed was good for him, but he didn't really care. It was one of his few vices and one of the few constants in his life. No matter what else was going on, coffee smoothed the edges.

When he returned to his desk, Gibbs found McGee alone in their part of the big room. The squad room was loosely divided into three areas: At one end were the desks of some of the intelligence analysts and other staff that supported NCIS's international operations. The opposite end beyond the central stairs contained the desks of the half-dozen or so field agents not currently assigned to one of NCIS's 16 field offices, 140 other permanent locations, or aboard ships. The center of the room was reserved for the agents of Major Case. From these desks, for more years than Gibbs cared to recall, his team had managed to make minor miracles happen. And a few really big ones. Gibbs only hoped they could pull one off this time, too.

"McGee, what'da'ya got?" Gibbs asked. He sat down and slipped his gun into his desk drawer.

"Tony said you found Amy," McGee said. "Is she really pregnant?"

"Really," Gibbs replied. "What did you find?" McGee's face was momentarily blank, as if his hard drive had locked up, conflicted over having to still look for information on a girl who was no longer missing. Wouldn't surprise Gibbs if that was exactly what he was witnessing.

"Uh, where do you want me to start?" McGee asked finally.

"With the father."

"Alright," McGee said, and tapped a few keys on his computer. He stayed seated while he read from his screen.

"Liban Aziz, 54, graduate of Kabul University with a degree in political science. He started teaching in Kandahar five years later, and stayed there until the city fell to the Taliban. After that, he apparently worked odd jobs in and around Kandahar until the U.S. invasion. The Marines of the 26th MEU were running into culture clashes in the city and they went looking for street ambassadors. Aziz was one of them. He got friendly with the troops, and when the Commander of the MEU decided he wanted someone to teach culture at Bagram, Aziz's name came up. He taught on base there for almost a year.

"Basically, the same process repeated stateside: The DoD wanted someone to teach at the Military College here, so they contacted the field units, and Aziz was recommended. His background check came up clean and they brought him over."

"What was in the background?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing, really. They looked into his religious practices, his politics, his associates, family, possible connections to the Taliban, al Qaeda and the drug trade. Nothing came up that pointed to any connection to the insurgency. He was known in the community to be a family man, just trying to get by after his source of income dried up. The MEU was paying him well to work with them."

"What else?" Gibbs asked.

"Eldest of five children, his parents, an uncle, and two brothers died in the Soviet invasion. Similar background checks were run on his surviving family members, they all came back clean. The only thing I found odd was there's no mention of his wife's family. They did a cursory look into her background, but didn't go in depth. He told the investigators that she had no living relatives, and it was like they just took his word for it."

"What do we have on her?" Gibbs asked.

"She's 35, carries an Afghani passport. There's no record of her birth, only a religious record of their marriage, no government documents I could find. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything: like I said, their infrastructure is pretty much toast and public records aren't being maintained. Her name is Hannah."

"Hannah?" he asked. "Any maiden name listed?

"No. Just Hannah. That's kind of odd, that she has a name from the Jewish Bible."

"Odd," Gibbs agreed. Those of the Muslim faith rarely gave their children non-Muslim names. He mentally filed that away for future reference.

"So why was the background check classified?" Gibbs asked. "And where's the connection to SecNav?"

"I don't know why it was classified," McGee answered the first question. "There was nothing in there that should have been a secret."

"You sure you got it all?"

McGee frowned, cocking his head to the side, his eyes flashing rapidly from his monitor to Gibbs.

"Um, I looked at everything that was there," McGee said. "Do you think there's more?"

"You're the maestro, McGee. You tell me."

"I'll see if I can find anything else," McGee said. He returned to his computer.

"You find anything saying how religious the father is?" Gibbs asked a minute later.

"Looks like just the usual. Nothing indicating he's an extremist. He holds to the fundamentals, does his duty as a Muslim. But he worked with the Marines, came to America and brought his family with him. So he's obviously not anti-West."

The agents fell silent: Gibbs considering that, McGee considering what else Gibbs might want to know. If the father was just the average Muslim, Gibbs might be able to get some traction talking to him. On another front, he wondered how much this 'mahr' was worth. Amy said the family couldn't afford to pay it back. Maybe there was something there. Might be cheaper to front the father some money than to arrange for long-term protection for Amy. Might be an argument he could make, anyway.

"How much does it cost to provide protection for a witness for a day?" Gibbs asked McGee. His junior agent frowned.

"You mean, actual money?" McGee asked.

"Yeah, ballpark. Say, two agents around the clock. What's the bill?"

"In the witness's own home? Or a safehouse?"

"Safehouse," Gibbs said. McGee nodded, consulted his computer. A moment later: "Assuming regular time pay, about $2,500 a day including food, not counting benefits."

So, for a week, that'd be… $17,500. Gibbs was pretty sure the bride price on a 12-year-old Muslim girl couldn't be that high. Could work.

"What'd you find in her Facebook?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing significant. She's only got a handful of friends, all of whom go to International Day. Judging by her traffic, it looks like she was using it as a research resource rather than a social network."

The phone on Gibbs' desk rang. It was the director, requesting an update. Let the games begin.

"If DiNozzo gets back before I do, tell Hamilton to stand by. I'll be upstairs," Gibbs told McGee. He grabbed his coffee and headed for the Director's office by way of the mess. This was going to require sustenance, and a few minutes to think.

**10-10-10-10-10**

Leon Vance had been director of NCIS for almost three years. He had taken the reigns of the agency in the middle of a season of turmoil that had not ended well. Former director Jennifer Shepherd had been using the agency – and Gibbs' agents – for her own purposes, running off-the-books ops that put Gibbs' people at risk. Gibbs had nearly gone out of his mind trying to figure out what she was up to and protect what was his.

Then, Jenny took Tony and Ziva with her to Los Angeles and – intentionally or not – set them up. She'd gone there wanting to die, and in a last act of selfishness, had made her willing death appear to be their failure.

Assistant Director Vance had taken over in the aftermath. He'd ordered Ziva back to Israel, sent DiNozzo afloat, and exiled McGee to the Cyber Crimes Division. Gibbs had been assigned three new agents and spent the next four months trying not to kill them, and to keep them from getting themselves killed. He'd spent more nights that summer drinking in his basement than in any other year since he'd lost his family. His carefully ordered world had been turned upside down, his people scattered, and he had no idea why.

The assumption in the agency was that Gibbs' team was dismantled as punishment for their failure to protect Jenny. But Gibbs had smelled… something. His internal bull detector had been well-tuned over the years, especially since Jenny started playing her games. It was buzzing so loudly that summer that he could hardly hear himself think.

Turned out it was all part of a mole hunt that eventually saw two good agents killed, one at Gibbs' hand. He'd never forgiven Vance that, and it had strained their relationship from the start. Lately, though, they'd come to an unspoken agreement: Vance let Gibbs run his team, and Gibbs let Vance run his agency. It was only when the two goals clashed that bad things happened.

"You find the girl yet?" Vance asked when Gibbs appeared in his office 10 minutes after he was summoned. Vance chose not to point out that it was a 90 second walk from Gibbs' desk to his. If you walked slow. He remained seated behind his desk as Gibbs settled into one of the facing guest chairs.

"We know where she is," Gibbs said.

"Oh?" Vance said, surprised.

"She spent the night at her boyfriend's house," Gibbs said.

"Great," Vance said. "How many man hours did it take to figure that out?" he asked rhetorically. Then: "You send her home?"

"Not yet," Gibbs said. Vance raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" Vance asked.

"There's a complication," Gibbs said. He didn't continue. Vance stared at him for a moment.

"You gonna make me ask?" Vance said. Gibbs internally checked one point for himself.

"Her father's an Islamic fundamentalist, and she's pregnant and promised in marriage to a man back home. I've got it on pretty good authority he's likely to kill her if we send her home, to remove the shame from the family."

Gibbs was pushing it a little, claiming the father was a fundamentalist. But wasn't above a little overstatement to make his point. And it certainly helped make his case.

Vance's gaze narrowed. He leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers under his chin.

"Who's authority?" Vance asked.

"Ducky," Gibbs supplied. Vance couldn't argue with that. At least not on spec. Politically, if required. But he needed a little more.

"She credible?"

"Would I be telling you this if she wasn't?" Gibbs came back.

"What evidence do you have that the father's any risk to her?" Vance asked. He obviously wasn't just going to take Gibbs' word for it. Which was annoying, but not unreasonable.

"When she snuck out and got pregnant, last fall, the father caught her sneaking back in and beat her so badly she needed to take a week off school to recover."

"A report get filed?" Vance asked.

"No," Gibbs said. "But we've got enough to make a case now, if we need to." Another overstatement. But who was counting? There was another period of silent thought.

"What are you going to do? You can't keep her."

"I can't send her back, either."

"Who knows you found her?" Vance asked.

"My team, the Marine she was with."

"The Marine the father?" Vance asked with a quick prayer he wasn't. He could see nothing but trouble down that road.

"Likely it's the Marine's kid brother. He's 17."

Well, that was something, Vance thought. Long as they were both underage, the father wasn't likely to get far claiming statutory rape. The District Attorney – not to mention the Judge Advocate General's office – tended to reserve that charge for when one of the players was an adult.

"So you haven't told the girl's family yet," Vance said.

"Nope," Gibbs replied, and waited. Vance's next move would determine the battle lines for this fight.

"SecNav wants an update by day's end," Vance said. He looked pointedly at his watch. "So you've got about two hours to figure something out."

Meaning Vance wasn't going to tell anyone they'd found her, either. Gibbs tossed out his first idea.

"There was a 'mahr,' a fee paid to the family for the right to marry the girl. If the money is returned, consensus is the father might be able to avoid the shame and wouldn't have to kill her."

"So he'll return it," Vance said.

"Amy says they can't afford to," Gibbs said.

"How much money are we talking?" Vance asked. Gibbs was sure the director hadn't realized where Gibbs was heading. It was probably just curiosity. But it gave him an opening.

"I don't know. Can't be as much as it would cost to protect her until we get the courts to remove her."

To his credit, Vance made the leap pretty quick. "You're suggesting we give them the money? What budget line item am I supposed to use for that?"

"Witness protection," Gibbs stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What, exactly, is she supposed to have witnessed?" Vance asked.

"Make something up, Leon," Gibbs said, with just a hint of exasperation. "She's a 16-year-old girl who's looking at a death sentence for letting her hormones get the better of her. Isn't her life worth a couple of grand of taxpayer money?"

"Paying off private debt is not our business," Vance said.

"Our business is to protect the interests of the U.S. Navy, which includes sailors, Marines, and their dependents," Gibbs corrected.

"None of which this girl is," Vance said.

"Her baby is. About as dependent as it gets," Gibbs said. "We gonna sit here and let this girl and her baby get killed? When we could have prevented it?"

"Slow down a little, Gibbs," Vance said. "What evidence do you have that the father intends to hurt her? Dr. Mallard knows a lot about history and custom. But this Washington in the new millennium, not the Middle East in the 19th Century."

"We already know he beat her just for sneaking out and wearing the wrong clothes," Gibbs said, his voice rising. "What do you think he's going to do to her for getting pregnant?"

"So call children's services," Vance said. "They'll open a case on her, put her in foster care until they can confirm it one way or the other. You can even shadow their investigation, make sure they're doing it right."

"That's not good enough, Leon," Gibbs said with a firm shake of his head. "The father's got enough pull to make the Secretary of the Navy and the Director of the FBI jump. How long do you think a minimum-wage social worker going to stand up?"

"I'm not going to authorize payment of a debt that has nothing to do with the Navy. Find another way," Vance said.

Gibbs stood. "It might take longer than two hours," he said as he headed to the door.

"Well, if I can't find you, I can't get an update," Vance said to Gibbs' back. The senior agent smiled. That'd work.

"Gibbs," Vance called as Gibbs opened the door. He turned back.

"You can hide her for the night. But you'd better have a plan in place by morning."

"We will," Gibbs said.

"Call the father by nine a.m. Not a minute later. He might be a bastard, but he's still the father of a missing daughter, and I'm not going to let you keep him in the dark any longer than that."

"Understood," Gibbs said.

"And come up with something hopeful to tell him, tonight."

* * *

... to be continued...

Sorry for the delay in posting, friends. Something REALLY BAD happened. A new story idea appeared out of nowhere and started smacking me upside the head. Hard. I haven't had multiple novels going at the same time since high school, and it's messing with my mind a little. Don't worry, I haven't given up on this one, or even significantly stalled. I'm just excited about the new one. Might slow down posting here a little, but I promise to keep posting.

And of course, reviews are read with glee and greatly appreciated. joy


	11. Chapter 11 - Rule 13

**Chapter Eleven - Rule 13**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

DiNozzo and Hamilton were back in the squadroom. Hamilton was sitting in a straight chair next to DiNozzo's desk, bouncing his leg impatiently. He saw Gibbs coming down the stairs and stood.

"Where are they?" Hamilton demanded. "Your man here won't tell me anything."

"You done?" Gibbs said to DiNozzo.

"Yup. Just gotta type up my report."

"Good. You have to go home early."

DiNozzo blinked. "Am I sick?"

"You have a dentist appointment," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo cringed. His favorite excuse, back when he was undercover for Jenny behind Gibbs' back.

"I do?" DiNozzo asked.

"Yes, you do. And you're not going to be able to answer phone calls from anyone but me until after 1800," Gibbs said.

"Am I hiding from someone?" DiNozzo asked as he stood to gather his stuff.

"Now why would you think that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said.

"No reason. See you tomorrow, Boss," DiNozzo said.

"Not tomorrow. After 1800. I'll call you. And type that report in the meantime."

Tony made a 'darn it' gesture with his face and shoulders. He opened his desk drawer, removed a flash drive and pocketed it, then headed out.

"Me too, Boss?" McGee asked.

"You too. Go home. Keep working on the father. Find out why he was able to get this investigation launched so fast. I'll call you."

"Got it," McGee said. He, too, packed up.

"Where are the kids?" Hamilton repeated when they were gone.

"Give me a minute," Gibbs said. He went around his desk and picked up his phone, dialing Ziva's number.

"Where are you?" he asked when she answered.

"At the doctor's office," Ziva said. "The doctor has just begun the exam."

"Stay there. We'll meet you."

"Is something wrong, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"No. Just a change of plans." Gibbs hung up and got his gun back out of his drawer. He gathered up his stuff.

"Come on," he told Hamilton. "I'll brief you on the way."

As they left the building, Gibbs called Ducky and told the Medical Examiner they were flying under the radar.

"It has been awhile since I've taken the afternoon off," Ducky said. "Perhaps I feel a cold coming on."

"That'll do," Gibbs said.

"Are you likely to require my services after hours?" Gibbs said.

"Hope not," Gibbs said.

"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow."

Out in the parking lot, they headed for Hamilton's truck. Again, he opened the tailgate and spent a moment with the dog.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me where the kids are," Hamilton asked after a minute, keeping his focus on Rufus.

"I told you. They're at the doctor."

Hamilton looked around at him. "You said there was a doctor on staff."

"There is. Dr. Mallard. You'd like him. But I figured Amy would prefer a female obstetrician over our male medical examiner."

"Your medical examiner works on real people?" Hamilton asked. Gibbs decided not to point out that the dead were real people, too.

"Sure. He sews one hell of a suture line." As if on cue, the skin on his head twitched near the spot where Ducky had once sewn up six inches of the results of a golf-club attack, courtesy of Gibbs' first ex-wife.

"Yeah, but still," Hamilton said, and Gibbs could have sworn he shivered a little. "So where'd you send them?" he asked.

"Washington Hospital Center," Gibbs said. As it had Gibbs, that announcement startled Hamilton.

"She can't afford that," Hamilton said. "She's only got Tricare, like the rest of us."

"No charge," Gibbs said. "We know people."

"Yeah, but still… she's just a kid."

"Nothing but the best for friends of ours," Gibbs quoted Ducky.

Hamilton made a pleased sound under his breath and he nodded. He pushed the dog back into the truck and closed the tailgate.

"Thanks," he said. Gibbs nodded his acknowledgment. They climbed into the truck and headed for the hospital.

Traffic was heavy almost as soon as they left the Yard. Mid-afternoon on a beautiful spring weekday; everyone wanted to be outside. Washington Hospital Center was four and a half miles virtually due north of the Navy Yard, but with the plethora of diagonals cutting the District into pieces, the drive usually took about 15 minutes without traffic. It was probably going to take half again that if it kept up the way it was.

There was silence in the truck, broken only by the low murmur of a police band scanner under the dash and an occasional sound from the dog. Gibbs was in his head, considering and rejecting possible plans for the next 18 hours and beyond. He needed somewhere to stash Amy where she'd be comfortable, where there was no implication of impropriety, and where she wasn't likely to be discovered. That didn't leave many options. He supposed the Hamilton's house was a possibility. But he wasn't sure he wanted to put the well-meaning Marine next to him at risk again.

"What did you tell Amy might happen, if you helped her?" Gibbs asked out of curiosity as that thought crossed his mind.

"I told her if her father found out, I'd probably get arrested."

"On what charges?" Gibbs asked.

Hamilton shrugged. "Like that FBI guy said: contributing to the delinquency of a minor, interfering with parents' rights… Her father could claim anything he could dream up. She's so scared of him, I couldn't be sure she'd deny it. As an enlisted, unmarried man, my presumption of innocence would be slim at best."

He paused, navigating around a stalled District of Columbia works truck that was snarling things on Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast.

"It's why I couldn't let her stay over last night. She's a minor, she's a foreign national, and she's a girl. I figured that was just about the perfect storm for getting me thrown out of the Corps."

"You think they'd discharge you for letting a teenage girl spend the night?"

"When you put it that way, it'd be a one-way ticket to Leavenworth," Hamilton said, and glanced over at Gibbs with a smile. He turned up Second Street past the Shakespeare Library.

"You know what I meant," Gibbs said.

"They might," Hamilton said, sobering. "My CO could call it misconduct, letting her stay over in her condition without her parents' permission. That'd do it. Then Daniel'd be on the streets."

"Why? Isn't there anyone else to care for him?" Gibbs was surprised. It was a requirement for all single parents in the military to have short-term and long-term plans for their children should they receive a no-notice deployment, or be assigned to a ship or an unaccompanied overseas tour. Failure to produce such a plan – in writing – could by itself result in separation from the military.

"There's just the two of us. Short term, my neighbors would take him. They've done it before when I've gone away on training missions. But he turns 18 in a couple months. As a civilian adult he can't stay in base housing without me."

"How've you handled deployments?" Gibbs asked.

Hamilton shook his head. "I haven't deployed since mom died. I got a wavier on compassionate grounds when I became Daniel's guardian. No assignments where he can't go."

"That expire in a couple months, too?" Gibbs asked.

Hamilton shook his head. "Not until he's 19. His learning delays make him an EFM, so he gets an extra year to get settled in college or a job independent of his sponsor before he's no longer a minor. But all that depends on me making my marks, maintaining good conduct. A week or two in the brig, and even if the charges are dropped, it's all over."

Gibbs fell silent again. That was one hell of a risk the guy had taken to try and help Amy.

They were passing Prospect Hill Cemetery, less than a mile from the hospital, when Gibbs spoke again. "Why'd you risk it?" he asked.

Once again, Hamilton shrugged. "She's a kid. An innocent. She's in big trouble, her life is probably in danger. If I wasn't willing to risk it all for someone like her, I figured I couldn't really call myself a Marine."

That worked, Gibbs thought, and he nodded. "We're going to hide her tonight, use the time to figure out what's next."

"You can do that?" Hamilton asked, surprised.

"We're feds, we can do pretty much anything we want," Gibbs said.

"I knew it," Hamilton said with a wry smile. "It's like I always told Daniel: You can't trust feds. They don't have to play by the same rules as the rest of us."

Gibbs smiled at him and took a breath.

"I'm going to need you to take your brother home," Gibbs said as they turned onto First Street Northwest. "And keep him there until we resolve this."

"He's not going to like that," Hamilton said.

"I don't care," Gibbs said. "The only way to keep him – and you – out of this is to make like everything's normal. What did you tell the school about why he was away today?"

"He was sick," Hamilton said.

"Good. He's still sick tomorrow. He's been home the whole time. We were talking to you about Amy when you got a call from Daniel saying he needed you. You went home. We came with you to see if Amy was there. She wasn't. You took your brother to the doctor, you came back and stayed with him. The entire afternoon and night, and tomorrow too."

"Now it's my C.O. who's not going to like that," Hamilton said. They passed onto the grounds of the medical complex of which the hospital was a part.

"We'll clear it with him," Gibbs said.

"Her," Hamilton corrected.

"Her," Gibbs said. "It only needs to work tonight. By morning, it won't matter."

"Are you going to send her back?" Hamilton asked. He turned into the bus circle in front of the hospital, pulled into a red zone, and put it in park. He turned on the four-ways. Rufus started to fuss in the back, eager to get out.

"We might not have a choice," Gibbs said as he unsnapped his seatbelt. "But I'm going to make absolutely certain she'll be safe before I let her go home."

"And how are you going to do that?" Hamilton asked.

"Don't know yet," Gibbs said. "But I've got a little less than 18 hours to figure it out."

**11-11-11-11-11**

So this was how the other half lived, Gibbs thought as they walked through Washington Hospital Center. They'd stopped at the 'Welcome Center' and spoke to one of the concierges – honest to God, he was wearing a badge that said 'concierge' – and were directed to the Women's Wellness Center. It was in a different building from the main hospital, accessible through a glass breezeway.

As a Marine, then as an employee of the Navy, Gibbs had always been treated at military hospitals and clinics. Or at Ducky's tables. Some of them had been nice, but overall they were like most government buildings: minimally designed at birth and chronically underfunded throughout their lifetimes. This place was… not that. It looked more like a luxury hotel than a hospital. Fancy carpet on the floors, fancy paper on the walls. Gibbs was pretty certain they wouldn't take Medicaid.

The elevator on the fourth floor opened into a reception lobby that would make any K Street lawyer proud. They were greeted by a receptionist who pleasantly asked them their business. He'd expected some resistance, them being men unaccompanied by women, and Hamilton looking like the well-armed Marine that he was. Instead, the young woman answered their query by directing them down a short hall into an a smaller but no less opulent waiting area with a nurse's station in one corner staffed by three young ladies in pink scrubs. Daniel was in a chair in the opposite corner, anxiously eyeing the ladies and the doorway beside them that presumably lead to the exam rooms. Daniel saw them and jumped to his feet, hurrying over to them.

"They wouldn't let me go with her," he complained.

"I'm not surprised," Hamilton said. "It's a girl thing."

"Is Special Agent David still with her?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah," Daniel said. "Do you have a plan yet?"

"Working on it," Gibbs said.

He was saved from further comment by the appearance of Amy, Ziva, and a small Asian woman in a crisp lab coat. Amy was still wearing her traditional clothing, but the hijab was down around her shoulders. She had a small manila envelope in one hand.

"Don't forget, I want to see you back here in two weeks, Amy," the woman, presumably Dr. Darolia, said. "Just come in whenever you can, and I'll see you right away."

Amy nodded. Dr. Darolia looked up as the men approached.

"You must be Agent Gibbs," she said. Gibbs wondered what Ducky had said to her.

"I am," Gibbs replied.

"Tell Dr. Mallard my IOU is paid, but it'll be my pleasure to see Amy through her delivery."

"I will. Thank you," Gibbs said. He shook hands with her. She patted Amy on the shoulder, then stepped over to speak with one of the nurses before heading back into the office.

"Are you alright?" Daniel asked Amy.

"I saw my baby," Amy said with a huge smile. "I have pictures."

"Pictures?" Daniel said. Amy held up the envelope.

"The doctor has a machine that let me see her, and take her picture. My baby's a girl." Amy was positively glowing with excitement. For the moment, her fears about her future and what might happen were taking a back seat to the joy every mother felt at seeing her baby for the first time.

"Can I see?" Daniel asked.

Daniel and Amy moved over to sit down. Gibbs turned to Ziva.

"What'd she find?" he asked quietly.

"You mean, other than a baby?" Ziva asked, her own eyes bright. "You would not believe the ultrasound they have here, Gibbs. It gives a three dimensional, color picture of the baby. She was sucking her thumb. We saw her hiccup. It was… very moving."

Gibbs understood her awe. Even with the simplicity of a standard ultrasound, the first sonogram of his baby had taken his breath away.

"Besides the baby," Gibbs said after he gave her a moment.

"She is approximately 29 weeks along, perhaps 30, and the baby is developing well. Amy is a little underweight, and her blood pressure is a little higher than the doctor would like. I mentioned that she had been under significant stress these last two days, and the doctor agreed that might be contributing to the higher reading. Nonetheless, she would like to see Amy every two weeks until her baby delivers. Then, as you heard, she offered to take Amy on as a patient."

"Any signs of abuse?" Gibbs asked.

"No," Ziva said with a shake of her head. "Several small, well-healed scars on her back, but none that could definitively be said to have been caused by a belt. Overall, she is in excellent physical condition."

On the one hand, Gibbs was glad Amy wasn't suffering ongoing physical harm at home. On the other hand, it would have made their case to keep her away from home much easier if they'd had evidence.

"Alright." He turned to Hamilton. "Take him home. Remember the story."

"I will. You'll call me?"

"Give me your number," Gibbs said. He took out his notebook and wrote it down.

"I'm trusting you to take care of her," Hamilton said.

"I know. We will," Gibbs said. Hamilton read him for a moment, then nodded sharply.

"Daniel!" he called. Daniel looked up. "Let's go."

"What?" Daniel stood, helped Amy to her feet, and they came over.

"We're going home."

"What about Amy?" Daniel asked.

"Special Agent Gibbs is going to take care of her," Hamilton said.

"No way," Daniel said. "I need to stay with her."

"You need to go home," Gibbs said. "We'll take it from here."

"But she can't go home," Daniel said. "It's not safe."

"I know," Gibbs said. "You and your brother have done the best you can do to protect Amy up until now. You've put yourselves at risk, done way more than most people would. But it's time to step back, protect yourselves. I'll make sure Amy's safe."

"How do I know we can trust you?" Daniel said. "For all I know, you're on her father's side, just trying to get rid of me so you can take her home."

Gibbs shook his head. "You don't know me, Daniel. If you did, you'd know there's nothing that makes me angrier than men who hurt women and children. Amy fits both those categories." He made sure he had Daniel's eye before he continued: "I swear to you, I will make sure she's safe."

"It's alright, Daniel," Amy said. She squeezed his hand. "It'll be okay. I trust him."

"Are you sure?" Daniel asked. Amy nodded. Daniel was clearly torn. Finally, he nodded.

"You'd better take care of her," Daniel said, a not-subtle threat in his tone.

"I will. But do me a favor?"

"What?" Daniel asked.

"Don't point guns at cops anymore. Even fake ones. Bad things could happen."

Daniel looked down, a little embarrassed, Gibbs thought. When he didn't respond, Hamilton cuffed him on the back of the head.

"I won't," Daniel said. "I promise."

"Good," Gibbs said. "Now go home."

Daniel gave Amy a hug, whispering something in her ear. She nodded and hugged him tighter. When they separated, Amy turned to Hamilton.

"Thank you for trying," she said.

"You're welcome. Sorry it didn't work out the way we hoped. But it might be better this way, anyway." The Marine and the girl hugged for a moment before Hamilton stepped away. Gibbs could swear the Marine's eyes were moist.

To cover an awkward pause, Gibbs gave Hamilton his card. "Anyone comes around asking questions, call me," he said.

"Copy that," Hamilton said. He took Daniel by the shoulder and they left.

"How about lunch?" Gibbs said to Amy as she watched her friends leave. "The doctor said you need to gain some weight."

"Okay," Amy said. She cleared her throat. "Do you want to see the pictures of my baby girl?"

"Sure," Gibbs said, hiding a smile. He'd already shown way too much sentiment on this case.

**11-11-11-11-11**

They had a meal in the cafeteria. It was as upscale as the rest of the hospital, with table service and a full menu. Gibbs, having already eaten, splurged on a Napoleon pastry. And more coffee.

Ziva took the conversation, sensing Gibbs' preoccupation. They chatted easily, Amy apparently having bonded with Ziva during the doctor's exam. Gibbs let the conversation flow over him while he tried to plan out their next moves.

The first priority now was finding someplace to stash Amy for the night. The way he saw it, they didn't have a lot of choices. Normally, they'd put her up at any one of several safehouses NCIS had in the Capitol region. But these weren't normal circumstances. They were, in effect, hiding this kid from the Secretary of the Navy. Which meant Navy resources were out.

If she was a little older, and a little less pregnant, they could just rent her a hotel room. But he didn't like that idea for a lot of reasons. Chief among them was the lack of control he would have over the situation. He couldn't stay in the room with her – that would look bad on so many levels – but he didn't want to leave her security to anyone else.

Gibbs knew they were taking a huge risk here. To keep this girl and her baby safe, Gibbs was willing to risk the fallout for himself. He's been at NCIS so long he was virtually bulletproof. But the members of his team weren't so well-positioned. If this came out, and the Secretary of the Navy chose to make a fuss, he could lose them again. Which meant he had to keep them out of it. Which closed off most of his other options.

If the situation were a little different, he could take her to his house. He had done that in the past, when witnesses needed protecting. It was the only place he knew of where he could personally control all angles of a situation. But that would bring him to the same place Hamilton had been last night. Letting a non-relative pregnant teenage girl spend the night at the home of a single man with no women to chaperone looked bad in any culture. It might actually increase the future risk to Amy, if her father found out. Spending time alone with a man was what got her into this mess in the first place. Then there was the fact that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the Secretary of the Navy might show up at his house uninvited. It had happened before.

Another idea occurred, and was immediately rejected. Then, reconsidered. It could work. Would violate the hell out of Rule 13. But he'd broken his own rules on occasion in the past, and the world hadn't fallen off its axis. Probably wouldn't this time, either.

"I'll be right back," Gibbs said, interrupting the ladies' conversation. Ziva nodded, and Amy smiled briefly. Gibbs rose and stepped out of the dining room. He took a small phonebook out of his breast pocket and looked up a number. With one last hesitation and a silent 'what the hell,' he dialed. It was answered in two rings.

"Ms. Hart," Gibbs said.

"Mr. Gibbs," she said, and Gibbs could hear her smiling. "It's been a long time."

"I need a favor," Gibbs said.

* * *

...to be continued...

Many thanks to all who've reviewed so far. I enjoy hearing from you, and hang on your every word. joy


	12. Chapter 12 - Trying to Soften the Blow

**Chapter Twelve - Trying to Soften the Blow**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

**_Previously..._**

_Another idea occurred, and was immediately rejected. Then, reconsidered. It could work. Would violate the hell out of Rule 13. But he'd broken his own rules on occasion in the past, and the world hadn't fallen off its axis. Probably wouldn't this time, either._

_"I'll be right back," Gibbs said, interrupting the ladies' conversation. Ziva nodded, and Amy smiled briefly. Gibbs rose and stepped out of the dining room. He took a small phonebook out of his breast pocket and looked up a number. With one last hesitation and a silent 'what the hell,' he dialed. It was answered in two rings._

_"Ms. Hart," Gibbs said._

_"Mr. Gibbs," she said, and Gibbs could hear her smiling. "It's been a long time."_

_"I need a favor," Gibbs said._

**_And now, on with the story:_**

* * *

"I don't even get a 'how've you been, how's work, how's the new house, how did the move to Washington go?' Nothing?" she asked.

M. Allison Hart was a defense attorney. Usually, Gibbs treated that particular sub-species of human as if he wouldn't give them a drop of water in the desert. He had done the same with Hart initially, especially considering the circumstances under which she'd entered his life: She'd been defending the former Army Colonel who'd tried to kidnap Gibbs' goddaughter and her mother. That had started a chain of events that at best could have seen Gibbs sent to prison, and at worst, could have resulted in the death of him and everyone he loved. Still, once Hart understood what her client was up to, she'd played a major role in making sure neither of those things happened. It put her in that small group of living people who held Gibbs' marker. It had also made them friends, of a sort.

"Okay," Gibbs said. "How've you been? How's work? How's the new house? I need a favor." He knew she could hear his smile, too.

She gave a theatrical sigh. "Lay it on me," she said.

"What do you know about immigration law? Specifically, refugee status?"

"Oh, it's business," Hart said, and Gibbs heard her voice change. The flirty smile was gone. "I know some. It's certainly not my specialty. What's the situation?"

"Sixteen-year-old Afghani national, in the U.S. as the daughter of a DoD contract instructor. She's pregnant, and she's afraid her father's going to kill her for it."

"Isn't that what every pregnant teenager thinks?" Hart asked.

"There's probably something to it this time. I need to know if we can, I don't know, emancipate her or something, so she doesn't have to go home."

"When's she scheduled to return to Afghanistan?" Hart asked.

"She's not. I'm more worried about her returning home tonight."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Where is she now?"

"Eating lunch with Ziva in the Washington Hospital Center dining room."

"The father doesn't know?"

"Nope."

"Is there any chance she can hide it awhile, give me time to pull something together?"

"She's already been hiding it for about 30 weeks. She ran away last night. She and her boyfriend were trying to get her to a refugee shelter in the City. The father made some calls when she didn't come home, and one thing led to another which lead to the Secretary of the Navy asking us to find her."

"Which, of course, you did," Hart said. "And then she told you her story, and now, like the old Marine you are, you've decided to try and save her."

Gibbs couldn't argue with that assessment, and didn't try.

"So what are you going to do with her?" Hart asked when he didn't respond.

"Bring her to your office in about half an hour."

"It's almost quitting time, Gibbs. There's nothing I can even try to do until morning."

"I know. That's why I need a favor."

"Representing her isn't the favor?"

"Not all of it. She needs a place to stay tonight."

There was silence. "You do know there's about 50,000 hotel rooms in the Capitol Region, right? Some of them are really nice."

"She's 16 and pregnant. I can't just put her in a hotel room."

"Take her to your house," Hart said.

"Can't. People are looking for her. I need her someplace she can't be found."

"These people who're looking for her: Are they liable to shoot up my house if they find her there? Because I just put in new windows." The flirt was back.

"No. Mostly you're just hiding her from the Secretary of the Navy."

"Oh, like he doesn't have the SEALs and the entire First Marine Division at his disposal?"

"It's not that kind of situation. For some reason, the girl's father has some pull. We're only in it as a favor. He asked us to find her, we did. The rest of it is need to know, and he doesn't yet."

"Excellent. You know how much I love putting one over on the bureaucrats. But you know, Mr. Gibbs, the scales of favors owed are tipping pretty far in your direction. You might want to be careful about that. Me being a criminal defense attorney and all."

"We be at your office in half an hour."

"Looking forward to it," Hart said, and clicked off.

**12-12-12-12-12**

The agents drove Amy to Allison Hart's office at 18th and Eye. On the way, Gibbs explained to Amy what was going to happen.

"My friend is a lawyer. You're going to stay with her tonight, see if she can help you, while I talk to your father."

"Will you tell him about my baby?" Amy asked.

"Yes. I'll talk to him, and see what he has to say. And if it looks like everything'll be okay, you can go home."

"But what if he just pretending everything's okay?" Amy asked. "What if you think it's okay but it's not?"

Gibbs smiled at her in the rearview. "I'm really good at knowing when people are pretending," he told her. "I promised you and Daniel that it would be alright. I don't break my promises. Okay?"

Amy sighed, nodding a little. "I guess. You'll be sure?"

"I'll be sure," Gibbs said in his most confident tone. Amy said nothing for most of a mile. Then:

"What if it's not okay? What if I can't go home?"

"Then my friend will represent you and we'll make sure you get all the help you need."

"I don't have any money," Amy said. "I can't afford a lawyer."

"You don't need money. Lawyers are supposed to represent some people for free. It's in their rules. You'll be doing her a favor."

Amy didn't look like she believed that, but she nodded anyway.

"If I can't go home, will I be able to stay here, in America?"

"For a while for sure," Ziva said. "If it is not safe for you to stay at home, Children's Services will find you somewhere else to live, at least until you are 18."

"What about my baby? Will they take her away?"

"No," Gibbs said firmly. Ziva looked at him curiously.

"You are certain?" Ziva asked.

"They don't take babies away from loving mothers with good support systems."

"But I don't have that," Amy said.

"Sure you do," Ziva said. "You have Sgt. Hamilton, and Daniel."

"And us," Gibbs added. "We don't let bad things happen to our friends."

"If we can help it," Ziva said under her breath. Gibbs tipped his head slightly, granting her the point.

Despite what he sometimes liked people to think, Gibbs knew he wasn't omnipotent. He couldn't control everything. He would talk to the father, feel the situation out, and make his decisions. But he knew he might not have a choice but to send her back. If her father insisted, and if Gibbs couldn't prove any specific imminent threat to Amy's safety, he'd have to let her go home. Still, he had a lot of tricks in his bag. He'd use as many of them as necessary to make this work out.

**12-12-12-12-12**

After leaving Amy with her new lawyer, Gibbs dropped Ziva at the Yard, cautioning her not to go inside, then drove away. It was almost 5:00. Surely McGee had found something by now. He pulled over after a few blocks and called his junior agent.

"It's got to be a six degrees of separation thing, Boss," McGee said in response to Gibbs' query.

"A what?" Gibbs asked. The phrase was familiar, but he didn't know why.

"You know, the theory that everyone in the world is connected to everyone else by only six steps? A friend of a friend, six times, connects you to any other individual on the planet?"

"Okay," Gibbs said. "You wanna tell me what that has to do with this?"

"I can't find any direct connection between Aziz and SecNav. Not even one step away. It's got to be a friend of a friend of a friend thing."

"So you have nothing?" Gibbs asked.

"Not nothing. Just nothing that gets us the connection. I pulled the father's phone records from last night. He called the school, then he called Metro PD four times over the next three hours. After the fourth call, he called another civilian instructor on base, then the home number of Capt. Calandra, the base commander. He made another call to Metro, and about an hour and a half later, their dispatch created a ticket to respond to the house. Then first thing this morning, the father got a call from SecNav's office."

"So he got the Captain's home number from the other instructor, the Captain called Metro and asked them to do a courtesy run. Then this morning, the Captain called SecNav's office to report Amy missing, and SecNav called the father out of politeness," Gibbs theorized.

"But the Captain didn't call Metro, and he didn't call SecNav. Not last night, and not this morning."

"How do you know that?" Gibbs asked. There was no answer.

"McGee?" Gibbs said.

"I looked at the Captain's phone records, too. Home and office."

"I see," Gibbs said. He let that sit for a second. "So who did the Captain call?"

"No one last night. This morning, all kinds of people. But no calls to the Secretary's office."

"Any chance he called SecNav's cell?"

"I've identified all the numbers he called. That wasn't one of them."

"How about the Captain's cell? Could he have called from that?"

"Checked that, too."

Again, Gibbs paused. "McGee?"

"Yeah Boss?"

"Remind me to use payphones from now on, okay?"

"Yes, Boss," McGee said, his chagrin apparent even through the cell.

"Keep working the father." Gibbs hung up and pulled back onto the road.

Vance had told him to come up with something positive to tell the father tonight. He figured he could put it off until after the dinner hour, anyway. Not that he needed to eat anything more anytime soon.

**12-12-12-12-12**

The choice of when to talk to the father was taken out of his hands two hours later. Gibbs had received – and ignored – two calls from Director Vance. Voicemail messages informed him SecNav was looking for a status report. The unspoken subtext was, don't call back unless you've got something he'll want to hear. Then Dispatch called to report Mr. Aziz had been trying to reach him. When day shift turned to night at 1900 hours, the switchboard at the Navy Yard automatically routed calls through dispatch. Since part of this deal was talking to the father, Gibbs knew he couldn't ignore that one.

Gibbs called Fornell. The G-man was still at his office, and Gibbs arranged to pick him up. He needed a partner for this, and for the same reasons he'd sent them home, he didn't want to use any of his team members. Fornell, on the other hand, was almost as bulletproof as Gibbs himself.

"You know I don't mind lending a hand to a fellow fed every now and then, Gibbs, but don't you have at least three lackeys who could help you with this?" Fornell said by way of greeting when Gibbs pulled up in front of the J. Edgar Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue and 9th Northwest.

After Fornell got in, Gibbs explained the problem.

"So you're going to tell the man a few lies, and you want an incorruptible witness who's willing to lie in turn at your disciplinary hearing," Fornell summed up.

"I'm not going to lie. Just… skirt the truth a little."

"And you're counting on his lack of proficiency in our Mother Tongue to slip that fact by him."

"Something like that. Might need a little help with some subtle interrogation, too."

"So you're going to lie to him and interrogate him, too. Count me in."

They once again made the drive to Summerfield Military Housing and parked in front of Amaya's townhouse. Gibbs glanced up at Sadie's window. The blinds were closed.

The mother again answered the door. Her eyes were clearer, but she looked no less unhappy. She ushered them into the living room and turned to go.

"Mrs. Aziz, you should be here for this," Gibbs said to her back. She stopped in her tracks, but didn't turn around.

"Why?" Aziz asked, rising from his chair. "What has happened? Is my daughter…" his breath caught.

"No, no, no," Fornell said. "She's fine. We just want to talk to both of you."

Mrs. Aziz slowly turned back. Her eyes were wide. She moved over next to her husband.

"You found her?" Aziz said.

"Why don't we sit," Gibbs said. Aziz nodded. He moved around the small coffee table and took a seat on the couch, gesturing his wife to sit with him. She settled slowly, like a bird alighting on a small branch. Gibbs and Fornell took the chairs.

"We've located Amaya," Gibbs said.

"Where? Why have you not brought her home?" Aziz asked.

"It turns out she did run away from school. She bought a train ticket to New York City."

"New York City? Why?" Aziz said incredulously.

"We'll get to that," Gibbs said. "Agents intercepted her, and she's safely in custody, but we're not going to be able to get her home until morning."

"But she's safe?" Aziz repeated.

"Yes. Absolutely."

Aziz took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Alhamdulillah."

Aziz reached for his wife's gloved hand and squeezed it between his own. Her eyes were wet, but the men could see her joy.

"Have you spoken to her? Do you know why she was going there? Maybe someone forced her."

"Yes, we've spoken to her," Fornell said. "And we're confident she was not under duress from any outside sources."

"Then why? Why would she do this?"

"Has she ever run away before?" Gibbs asked.

"Never," Aziz said firmly.

"Skipped school, cut a class?" Gibbs asked.

"No," Aziz said. "I told you before. She has perfect attendance. Before this."

"Our investigation revealed that Amaya missed a week of school last fall. At the end of September," Fornell said. Aziz frowned, tilted his head. Apparent memory surfaced, and he waved his hand in a dismissive motion.

"Of course. I had forgotten. She was ill."

"Ill?" Fornell asked.

"Yes," he said.

"In what way?" Gibbs asked.

"She was suffering from a stomach virus of some kind," Aziz said. Mrs. Aziz glanced up at him. He squeezed her hand, and she dropped her gaze.

"She must have been really sick, to miss a week of school," Gibbs said. "Did she see a doctor?"

"No," Aziz said. "It was not that kind of illness. She was frequently in the washroom, and possibly contagious. I decided to keep her home. She kept up with her school work while she was home and rejoined her classmates without falling behind."

"It's odd, that you would forget that," Fornell said.

"Why does it matter?" Aziz asked. "It was months ago. With my daughter missing… I have been distraught."

"It is understandable, sir," Gibbs said. "It's just that a few things we've learned have caused us to be a little concerned."

Fornell looked over at Gibbs, the slight raise of his brow his only comment on the deference Gibbs was giving Aziz.

"Concerned in what way?" Aziz asked.

"We were told that Amaya snuck out of the house last fall, went to a school dance without permission. We were told she was caught returning home. Wearing clothing that violated your religious custom."

There was silence while Aziz considered both men. His wife kept her gaze down.

"That is true," he said finally. "She fell into temptation. But she reaffirmed her faith, and has not strayed from it since."

"How can you be certain of that?" Fornell asked.

"Because I know my daughter. She is a good girl."

"She is," Fornell agreed. "But you brought her to America as a young teen, exposed her to girls her own age who do not live lives governed by such strong beliefs as yours, and sent her to a school populated with kids who can have whatever they want at the drop of a hat. You had to anticipate that she might 'fall into temptation.' She's a teenager in America. Sneaking out of the house is not the exception, it's the rule."

Aziz shook his head. "No. As you say, she was exposed to… those kind of children, and she had a momentary lapse. But she knows where the truth lies. She is not that type of girl." He paused, tamping down his rising emotion.

"Why does it matter?" he repeated. "Do you believe this is why she ran away? To experience life as an American girl would? To join other girls in their sin? She would not do this."

The agents both internally cringed at that thought. He was so not prepared for what was coming.

* * *

...to be continued...

All this background is leading to... something. For reals. Thank you to all who're reading, and a special thanks to those few who've taken the time to review. I love to hear from you. joy


	13. Chapter 13 - Decision Time

**_Chapter 13 - Decision Time_**

**_by joykatleen_**

* * *

**_Previously..._**

_Aziz shook his head. "No. As you say, she was exposed to… those kind of children, and she had a momentary lapse. But she knows where the truth lies. She is not that type of girl." He paused, tamping down his rising emotion._

_"Why does it matter?" he repeated. "Do you believe this is why she ran away? To experience life as an American girl would? To join other girls in their sin? She would not do this."_

_The agents both internally cringed at that thought. He was so not prepared for what was coming._

**_And now, on with the story:_**

* * *

"When you caught her sneaking back in last fall. What was your reaction?" Gibbs asked.

Aziz took a breath and squeezed his wife's hand again without looking at her.

"I was afraid for what might have happened to her. I was disappointed in her."

"You were angry?" Gibbs said.

"Of course. Would you not be also?" he asked. Gibbs ignored the question.

"You punished her," Gibbs said.

"She had to understand that her choices had consequences," Aziz said.

"So you beat her," Fornell said flatly.

"I punished her in accordance with the Law," Aziz said.

"What law?" Fornell asked.

"The Law under which we live," Aziz said.

"Sharia," Gibbs said.

"That is right," Aziz said. "It is our Law."

"So the law told you to beat your daughter badly enough that she had to miss a week's school recovering," Fornell said, his voice rising just a touch. Aziz's control on his emotion cracked.

"What are you accusing me of?" he demanded.

"Disciplining your child in the manner prescribed by your beliefs," Gibbs said without condemnation, and Aziz looked confused.

"Are you saying there is something wrong with that?" he asked.

"In America, we have different standards for what is acceptable when it comes to disciplining our children," Fornell said. "We don't usually injure them."

"I did not injure her."

"So how did she get hurt?" Gibbs asked.

"She was not hurt," Aziz insisted.

"Our investigation says otherwise," Gibbs said.

"I cannot help what your investigation says," Aziz said. "I did not injure my daughter."

"And yet it took her a week to recover," Gibbs said.

"From a sickness."

"You know, Mr. Aziz, I'm not a real big fan of coincidences," Gibbs said.

"Coincidences?" Aziz asked.

Fornell ticked the points off on his fingers. "Your daughter gets caught sneaking out of the house. You punish her according to your beliefs, which we all know involves some type of beating. Coincidentally she takes the next week off school. It's the only week she has ever missed, and you coincidentally forgot about it." He waggled five fingers in the air. "I'm fairly certain all those things are related."

"What, exactly, did you do to her?" Gibbs asked.

"That is none of your concern. You have no business asking such questions. When will my daughter return?" Aziz asked, clearly attempting to close the subject.

"She'll be back in the morning," Gibbs said. "If we decide it's safe."

Aziz's eyes widened. "Why would it not be safe?"

"Our investigation has given us reason to believe she could be in danger if she returns," Gibbs said.

"I do not understand," Aziz said. There was a moment of silence while the agents silently figured out who would make the next move. Fornell took it.

"Amaya ran to New York because she was in trouble and she was terrified of what you were going to do to her," he said.

"What?" Aziz said. Beside him, Mrs. Aziz's eyes widened, and she again looked up at her husband. There was a clear question in her eyes, but she remained silent.

"Last fall she snuck out of the house, spent a few hours at a school dance, and when you caught her sneaking back in, you beat her," Fornell continued. "She was afraid to face that again."

"Children often try to hide from discipline," Aziz said dismissively. "This does not mean the discipline is dangerous. On the contrary: It usually means the child has not been disciplined enough."

Gibbs spoke up. "From what we've learned, Amaya is a good kid. It sounds like the thing last fall was the first time she'd rebelled."

"It was," Aziz admitted.

"Yet you beat her for it," Fornell said.

With a sigh of exasperation, Aziz shook his head. "You cannot possibly understand this. I discipline my children in the manner required by our faith, following requirements that are centuries old. I do not harm them, I merely direct them in the way they should go, and punish them when they stray. My daughter knows this. She knows her choices have consequences."

"Doesn't your faith preach forgiveness?" Gibbs asked.

"Of course it does. Islam also preaches we must be held to account for our sin. Forgiveness follows penance."

"So punishment is inevitable," Gibbs clarified. "There's no 'letting it go this one time'."

"That would serve no purpose. If a child is allowed to sin without punishment this time, she gets the idea that maybe she can get away with it next time, too." Aziz paused. "What has my daughter done? What do you know?"

Gibbs decided to bite the bullet. "Last fall, when she snuck out, she didn't spend the whole evening at the school dance. She spent part of the time with a boy."

Aziz nodded gravely. "I had suspected as much," he said. "This was why I was so concerned."

"Amaya and the boy, they got carried away," Gibbs said. Aziz tipped his head and frowned.

"What does this mean?" he asked. Mrs. Aziz raised a gloved fist to her mouth. Her husband might have still been confused, but she had clearly made the leap.

"They were intimate," Gibbs said.

"She's pregnant," Fornell added. Gibbs internally cringed. He'd been sneaking up on it, hoping to soften the blow.

Mrs. Aziz gasped. Her husband looked stunned, then: "No, no, ya Allah, this cannot be true."

"It is," Gibbs said.

"No. I do not believe it. Not my daughter. She would not do this to her family. She would not bring us such shame."

"She made a mistake," Gibbs said. "It happens sometimes."

"No," he repeated. "Not to my daughter. Where is she? I must see her."

"She'll be back in the morning," Fornell said. "Maybe."

"You must bring her to me. Now!" Aziz demanded.

"Mr. Aziz, you need to calm down," Gibbs said.

"Do not tell me to calm down," Aziz cried. "This is a tragedy. I must see her."

"You're not going to see her, not until we're sure she's going to be safe," Gibbs said.

"Father?" A small voice from the hallway behind them. "Is everything alright?"

"Go to your room!" Aziz said sharply without looking away from the agents. Instead of complying, the owner of the voice stepped into the living room, hugging the wall.

"Is Amaya okay?" Sadie asked in a timid voice.

"Sadiyah!" Aziz shouted, then added an order in Arabic. He turned to his wife and said something that made the woman leap to her feet. She rushed to gather the little girl and usher her out of the room.

"Where, exactly, is Amaya?" Aziz asked when they were gone. It did not escape either agent's notice that for the first time, he called her by name.

"As we said, she was headed for New York City on the train," Gibbs said. "We stopped her. She's in custody."

"Take me to her," he said.

"We're not going to do that," Fornell said. "We're going to talk this through."

"What is there to talk about?" Aziz demanded. "If this is true, Amaya has disgraced herself, brought shame to our family. Her life is over."

"I assure you, it is true," Gibbs said. "But her life is hardly over. She has a long road ahead of her, and she's going to need her father."

Aziz looked at him like he was insane. "You do not understand."

"I understand she's a young lady who got herself into a situation she never should have been in and made a terrible mistake," Fornell said. "That choice will probably haunt her for the rest of her life. But it doesn't matter how she got here, she's here now. She's about to give birth to your grandchild." He paused, but continued before Aziz could speak.

"She knows she made a mistake. She doesn't need to be punished. She has punished herself enough already. What she needs is to know that she still has your love and support."

"It is not that simple," Aziz said. "It does not matter whether I support her or not. The shame this has brought…" he trailed off.

"Mr. Aziz, we spoke to Amaya. We know about the mahr." Aziz looked at him sharply. Gibbs continued. "That doesn't need to be dealt with until you go back to Afghanistan. By then, any number of things could happen to make this right."

"How can this be made right?" Aziz asked. "Amaya is not married. She will have a child. She is no longer pure. In our country, that is a shame she cannot ever overcome. At best, she will be jailed, made to raise her child behind prison walls. At worst…"

"We can help you make it work, if you want," Gibbs said. "There are ways."

"No," Aziz said. "She has shamed herself and her family. She might as well be dead."

Based on what Amy had told them, the agents had figured they'd get to that reaction eventually. But it still stung to hear this father say it of his daughter.

"She's only 16 years old and very intelligent," Fornell said. "She has a world of opportunities ahead of her. If you're too ashamed to take her and her baby back to Afghanistan, you can leave them here. Her child will be a U.S. citizen. She can live out her life in America, without you."

"No," Aziz said. "I will not allow it."

"Then you don't have any choice but to support her. There are no other options," Gibbs said. He stared hard at Aziz. "There are no other options," he repeated. "Either she comes home and stays safe, or she doesn't come home at all."

"What are you saying?" Aziz asked.

"I'm saying that if she comes home, you will not use physical means to punish her for this," Gibbs said, his voice commanding. "If you feel you have to punish her, you will choose other means. You will not beat her, you will not lay a hand on her. Or I will have you arrested and sent to prison for child abuse."

"You cannot do that! I am not a citizen of your country. You have no right to dictate how I choose to discipline my children."

"Actually, he does," Fornell said. "You are here as a guest of the U.S. Navy. He's a Navy cop. Which means he pretty much has the right to do whatever he wants. Including take all three of your children into protective custody, deport your ass back to the Middle East, and make sure you never see any of them again."

There was stunned silence. "You cannot do that," Aziz said softly, disbelief clear in his voice.

"I can, if you make me," Gibbs said. He let that sit for a minute. In truth, he had no idea what his options were in this situation. The family was only technically under Navy jurisdiction, which meant they were only technically under Gibbs' jurisdiction. And even if it'd been more than a technicality, Gibbs was pretty sure they couldn't preemptively seize the kids. Not without some kind of evidence that they were in actual danger. Fornell had put up a good bluff, but Gibbs figured that's all it was.

"You do not understand our Law," Aziz said finally. "What you are asking me to do, it goes against everything I believe."

"You're right. I do not understand Sharia, but I understand it means to be a father," Gibbs said, his voice a little lower. "Sometimes you have to make tough decisions. You have to decide what's more important: Your religious and cultural beliefs or your daughter's life."

"There is no life without Allah," Aziz said. When Gibbs took a breath to continue, Aziz cut him off with a hand. "You would have me do this now, ignore the Law, save her now only to have her be lost to me for eternity?"

"Eternity is definitely out of my jurisdiction," Gibbs said, and sighed. "Your little girl needs you. Here and now. If your religion dictates that you can't be a father to her, that's fine. Just tell us and we'll take it from here. But I'm not going to let you hurt that girl. Not even to save her eternal soul."

Aziz shook his head and looked down at his hands. The agents waited. When a full minute passed, Gibbs spoke again.

"Amaya will be back in the morning," Gibbs said. "I suggest you spend tonight deciding what you're going to do. If you think you can get over the 'shame' of what's happened and welcome her home, that's great. If not, we'll find somewhere else for her to go, and you can get on with your life without her."

Aziz looked up and nodded. "Very well. I will consider what you have said. Now please go."

Gibbs and Fornell stood. As they moved out of the living room, Gibbs turned back.

"And don't think a phone call to the Secretary of the Navy is going to fix this," Gibbs said. "He has six grandchildren he loves very much, two of whom were born to single mothers. You call him, he calls me, I tell him what you did to Amaya last fall, and your patron in the Navy goes away."

A look of confusion crossed Aziz's face. After a moment, he nodded again. Gibbs and Fornell headed out. At the doorway, Gibbs paused and listened to the house. There was silence. Wherever Mrs. Aziz had taken Sadiyah, they were being very quiet.

"You gonna let her go home?" Fornell asked after they left Aziz's house.

"It's not looking real good at this point," Gibbs said.

"What are you going to do with her if you don't send her home?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs shrugged a little. "Don't know yet. Ducky's putting together a list of resources. Vance had a few suggestions."

"I bet he did. Children's services?"

"That was his first thought. I think we can probably do better than that, though. Especially if the father agrees to let her go."

"What if he doesn't? What if he demands she come home, calls your bluff?"

"It's not a bluff," Gibbs said firmly.

Fornell nodded. "You know what I mean. She's a minor. You can't help her run away any more than Hamilton could."

Gibbs considered it. "Then I'll be on him like DiNozzo on a blonde."

Fornell smiled a little at the image, then sobered. "You can't watch him 24/7."

"Damn it, Tobias, you think I don't know that?" Gibbs asked with obvious irritation. "We've got nothing but Amy's word that he beat her. It'd be enough to launch an investigation, but not enough to have her removed. Not with the lack of available foster beds in this town."

"So get an investigation launched. At least that'll be another set of eyes on her. She might get lucky: You might get one of the good ones."

"You know any good ones?" Gibbs grumped. "Cuz all the social workers I've met haven't been worth much. Even if you put them all together."

"There are good ones out there, Jethro. I know a few."

"So get one of them on this," Gibbs demanded.

Fornell gave him a look as if to ask when Gibbs had entered his chain of command. "You mean now? Or can I wait until morning?"

Gibbs glanced at the dashboard clock as he pulled up in front of the Hoover Building. "Put someone on alert. I'll call you after I talk to Aziz in the morning."

"Yes, Boss," Fornell said as he got out of the car. He leaned back in through the open door. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Thanks," Gibbs said.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Fornell grinned and slammed the door.

* * *

...to be continued...

Hope y'all are enjoying this. Sorry about the slow pacing, but real life, you know? At least the timing is consistent. :) joy


	14. Chapter 14 - The Mystery of Missus

**Chapter Fourteen - The Mystery of Missus**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs checked in with Allison Hart. Amaya had settled in just fine, excitedly showing off the sonogram photographs of her baby. They'd talked a little about options for Amaya's future, including potential placement at a local home for teen mothers. Allison reported that the girl really wanted to go home, if it was safe. But she was sticking to her belief that her father would have no choice but to kill her to protect the family honor. The way Gibbs saw it, the jury was still out on that issue. Allison also confirmed that unless he could come up with evidence of abuse or a verifiable threat to her safety, he was going to have to send her home. And that was the hitch.

With nothing more to be done tonight, Gibbs called his team. He told them each they were officially off duty, and reminded them they had no idea where Amaya was, should anyone with more stars and bars than them ask.

That done, he went home. The day had been long, though not as stressful as many in his chosen profession. Some days he went home and could do nothing but fall into bed. This wasn't one of those, but he was still tired. So he grabbed take out Chinese on the way home and ate it at the coffee table in his living room.

Gibbs still lived in the two-story plus accessible attic house he'd bought with his first wife Shannon more than 25 years before. Despite their nomadic lifestyle, Shannon had convinced him they needed to put down roots, somewhere. So as a young Marine stationed in Virginia during a very favorable housing market, Jethro and his pregnant wife had become homeowners. It was a fixer-upper, all they could afford, and they'd spent every spare dime making it theirs.

Gibbs hadn't always lived in the house: While he was assigned stateside, they'd lived as a family on Marine bases in five states. When he was assigned overseas, Shannon and their daughter Kelly had lived in the house alone, under the protective eyes of the neighbors they'd grown to love.

After Shannon and eight-year-old Kelly were killed by a drug dealer looking to silence the only witness to an earlier murder, the house had sat empty for more than a year while Gibbs tried to get his life back together. Since then, he'd lived here whenever he was posted in Washington, at various times sharing it with two of his three subsequent wives. For the last ten years or so, he'd lived here alone, and had slowly removed from it all reminders of old relationships. He kept a few things from his first life in hidden places around the house, and he had some mementos of his other marriages in boxes in the attic. But for the most part, it was a bachelor's home. It suited him well, and coming home to the emptiness no longer broke his heart.

When the little white boxes were empty of everything but a few vegetables, Gibbs leaned back on the couch and let his eyes close. He had a few hours to kill before he went to bed. His usual pastime was woodwork: he'd spent countless hours over the years alone in his basement with his hand tools. The peace he found turning bare wood into things useful or beautiful – or both – had helped him through many, many times of stress. But while recovering from knee surgery two years before, he hadn't been able to get down the stairs and had been forced to find other ways to occupy his time. He'd been slowly working his way through the Marine Corps Professional Reading Program, continuing from where he'd left off when he'd retired from the Marines in 1991. Since picking it up again, he'd finally finished the recommended list for Gunnery Sergeant, his retirement rank. He was about half way through the list for Master Sergeant, and was currently reading 'The Accidental Guerrilla,' a book that took a critical look at the way America was fighting the war on terror. The author made many workable suggestions for better ways to deal with the culture clashes that often lead to misunderstandings and wars. It wasn't like Gibbs was in a position to help make such a change anymore, but he'd had a CO once who liked to preach that there was no such thing as wasted knowledge.

The book was lying on the end table, and Gibbs opened his eyes to glance that way, considering. But he wasn't in the mood. He'd had too much of culture clash today already. He supposed he could go down and put some time in on his latest project: he was building a dollhouse for Fornell's daughter. But he didn't feel up to that, either. All the talk of daughters today had made him miss his own more than he usually did.

Gibbs got up and moved through the house to the back porch, grabbing a bottle of beer out of the fridge on the way. He didn't drink much, a beer with meals a couple times a week, a shot of bourbon when the mood struck. Truth was, it didn't take much alcohol to mellow him out when he was feeling like this.

He sat on the chaise lounge, put his feet up, and turned his eyes to the rapidly darkening sky. The moon was already off the horizon and rising full and bright. The weather had cooled to a still-comfortable 60 degrees or so. It was going to be a nice night for this time of year.

Gibbs' mind inevitably went to the crisis of the day. He did not understand how a father – any father – could even think of killing his own child over such an ethereal concept as honor. Gibbs had been a father for less than nine years, 20 years ago. Yet Kelly's loss was still like a wound that would not heal. Some days it hurt less than others, but the pain was never completely gone. He wished with everything in his soul that she was still alive, that he could have seen her grow up. Gibbs tried to imagine her as a pregnant teenager, tried to imagine how he would react to the news. He didn't know for sure. But he was certain he would have kept right on loving her, would have supported her, would have protected her as best he could. Even if society had told him he should be doing otherwise. She had been his heart, his future. He would have died before letting any harm come to her. He almost had in the aftermath of her death.

There were days when he missed his family desperately. In rare moments of self-loathing, he tried to imagine what his little girl would have looked like at high school graduation, at her wedding, what kind of woman she would have grown to be. But mostly she lived in his memory as she was when she died, forever eight years old.

Last year Gibbs had had one of those 'life before your eyes' moments. While looking down the barrel of a gun at his local diner, in the split second between the trigger pull and the bullet's impact against his shoulder, he'd had a series of... visions, for want of a better word... of what might have been. In one of them, he'd 'seen' his girls at home while he was in Kuwait, seen through his baby's eyes as a CACO officer and a Marine chaplain approached the door, seen the horror in his beloved's eyes when she saw them and realized there was only one reason those men would be on her porch. He'd realized in that split second that had he not lost his family, it might have been him that died, and them that were left behind to deal with the pain he had suffered for so long. No matter how much heartache he had experienced because of their loss, it was worth it to spare them the pain of losing him. It had made him realize he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Gibbs couldn't imagine anything his daughter could do that would make him wish her dead. He did not understand a culture that placed the honor of a family above the life of a child. If he lived to be 100, he would not understand how any culture could believe their children to be so… disposable.

Pushing that out of his mind by sheer force of will, Gibbs let his thoughts wander. The lawn needed mowing. He should get the AC serviced before it got too warm and the prices went up. Vacation season was coming up: he'd have to clarify his team's schedules to be sure he didn't lose two of them at once. They were off Memorial Day weekend. He'd probably spend it at Arlington.

Just before 9:00, his cell phone rang and he squinted at the screen. An unidentified Washington number. He let it go to voicemail, waited for the tone telling him he had a message, then listened to it. It was Sgt. Hamilton. He – and Daniel – would like to know how Amaya was doing. Gibbs returned the call.

"Her cell is still dead, and Danny really wants to talk to her," Hamilton explained. Gibbs told him he'd have Amy call back. He didn't know Allison Hart's home number, and wasn't sure she'd want her cell phone to become public knowledge. He called the lawyer, who said she'd take care of it.

It had gotten a little too cold to stay outside. Gibbs went in and took a long shower, then decided to go to bed a little early. He put on a t-shirt and house pants and arranged his bedding on the living room couch. Though there were three bedrooms on the second floor, Gibbs didn't regularly sleep in any of them. He wasn't sure why, really. When he'd returned to the house after losing his family, he couldn't stand sleeping in the master bedroom he had shared with Shannon. He'd moved across the hall to the guest room. Two wives had shared that room with him, neither one understanding why the larger room remained vacant, but both smart enough to leave it alone. As each of his marriages disintegrated, he'd left the guest room to the wife. He'd tried sleeping in Kelly's room – once – and then settled on the couch until the wife went away. When his fourth marriage became his third divorce, and Stephanie had taken everything she wanted out of their bedroom, Gibbs hadn't been able to bring himself to once again clean it out and reoccupy. So he'd kept sleeping downstairs, figuring he'd get to it eventually.

More than 10 years had passed, and he was still sleeping on the couch. Not the same couch. It was a new one he'd bought at a neighbor's yard sale four or five years before when the old one he and Shannon had purchased soon after their wedding finally wore out. The contents of the room were no longer the problem: after Stephanie left, he'd hired a cleaning lady to empty it, replace the old linens with new, and remove all evidence that the room had ever been shared by a couple. He kept his clothes up there, showered and dressed up there, but rarely did he sleep up there. Gibbs knew that there was no reason not to move back upstairs. He just didn't. Instead, he used a blanket and pillow he stored under the end table to make the couch as comfortable as he needed it to be, and slept.

**14-14-14-14**

In the morning, Gibbs arrived at the Navy Yard to find McGee had beaten him in. The younger man was concentrating on something on his computer and did not acknowledge Gibbs' appearance. Gibbs took off his coat, stowed his gun, and sat down to turn on his own computers. There were a couple of notes on his desk about overnight activity, including a call from Aziz that had come in just before 6 a.m. He had specifically asked that his message be held until morning and not forwarded by dispatch. Printed on the paper under Aziz's name and phone number were two short sentences: I have reconsidered. Please bring Amaya home. Gibbs smiled and nodded to himself. Maybe it would work out after all.

"Oh. Good morning, Boss," McGee said suddenly, having looked up and noticed him.

"McGee," Gibbs answered. He sipped from the coffee he'd picked up on the way in.

"How's Amy?" McGee asked.

"Fine." He'd called Allison first thing. She would take Amy to her office and keep her there until her father's intent was determined.

McGee went back to his computer. Gibbs went through his morning routine: checking voicemail, checking email – reading the subject lines, anyway – and scanning the overnight activity report. His team hadn't been on call, so if something pressing had come in, one of the other teams would have handled it. But there was nothing. It seemed the Capitol region had decided to play nice.

"Whatcha doin, McGee?" Gibbs asked after he finished. McGee was still focused on something.

"You know, it's really weird," McGee said, looking up. "I can't find anything about Amaya's mother before she married Aziz. No maiden name, birth certificate, schooling records, nothing. Not even a religious record of birth. It's like she just appeared as a newlywed."

"You had a record of their marriage. What does it say about her?"

"Ziva says it's written in Dari, the official language of business in Afghanistan. It only gives her first name, Hannah, her place of residence, Rahman Mina, and her age at time of marriage. She was 18. The spaces where her parents' names should be is blank, as is the space for place of birth."

"Maybe she was an orphan, didn't know where she was from," Gibbs said. "The country was at war long before we showed up."

"That's weird, too," McGee said. "They were married the same year Kandahar fell to the Taliban and Aziz lost his teaching job."

"Okay," Gibbs said.

"It's just weird, that a marriage would take place in the middle of all that. You'd think he would have put it off."

"Maybe it was pre-arranged," Gibbs said, thinking of the man somewhere in Afghanistan waiting for his child bride to return from America.

"If it was an arranged marriage, her parents' names would be on the marriage record," McGee pointed out. "But if it wasn't and they had been dating, she would have had to have been someone in his circle of influence for a year or more before the marriage. Islamic law requires a period of courting that lasts that long."

"A student at the university?" Gibbs asked.

McGee shrugged. "Maybe. She would have been a little young, but it still wouldn't explain her blank background. If she was an orphan, she couldn't have afforded college. There's no student aid program over there. Cash only."

"Could she have worked at the university in a non-faculty position? They must have had some unskilled minimum-wage employees?" Gibbs asked.

"Could be, but not likely. The class structure in their culture would have prevented two such opposites from even dating, much less getting married."

"You never saw Romeo and Juliet? West Side Story? Titanic?" came DiNozzo's voice as he rounded the corner into the bullpen. "Never would have pegged you as a class elitist, McSnobby. Morning, Boss." DiNozzo shrugged his coat off and stowed his weapon. "Who are we talking about?"

McGee rolled his eyes a bit. "Amaya's parents. I can't find any record of where her mother was before she married her father."

"You try asking the priest?" DiNozzo asked. He flipped on his computer, then looked up when no reply was forthcoming. Gibbs and McGee were both staring at him: McGee with confusion, Gibbs with an equal mix of annoyance and satisfaction.

"You know, the guy that supervised the 'I do's'?" DiNozzo elaborated. "He'd probably know where she came from."

McGee looked at him blankly for a second, then turned back to his computer and started typing quickly.

"The marriage contract is signed by both parties and an official of some kind," McGee confirmed.

"There you go," DiNozzo said. "Religious leaders don't usually change jobs that often. Wherever he was, he probably still is."

"Wherever who was?" Ziva arrived to throw her two cents in.

"Ziva. How likely is it that an official who conducted a wedding in…" Gibbs turned to McGee. "Kandahar?" McGee nodded. Gibbs continued: "In Kandahar 18 years ago would still be there now?"

"It is possible, but not likely considering the upheavals that have taken place there. The ceremony is not 'conducted' by a religious leader as it would be in America, or in Israel. But the official who legally records the marriage contract, the Qadi, may have been present when the Nikah ceremony was performed. There may have also been an Imam present, if the family was in one of the higher castes. If so, and if either official has survived the wars, he may still be in the area. Who are we looking for?"

"Amy's mother," McGee said and explained again about the information he couldn't find. "Tony suggested the person who married them might know about her background."

"It is possible, if the Qadi can be located. I could make some calls."

"Do it," Gibbs said. Ziva nodded and moved around behind her desk, stowing her gear. "What time do morning prayers end?" he asked her.

"Sunrise," Ziva said without hesitation, though she did look a little curious.

"DiNozzo, with me," Gibbs said, and he grabbed his gun again. Sometimes it seemed a little silly, locking his sidearm away in a drawer every time he stepped into the office. But there were valid reasons for knowing exactly how many weapons were present in the building and where they were at any given moment. There'd actually been a few times in his career when he'd needed to be armed here. Then it had been a simple matter of accessing the armory and he'd had more firepower in his hands than he could possibly use against anything less than an invading army.

The senior agent and his second got back on the elevator. "Where we going, Boss?" DiNozzo asked.

"To talk to Amy's father," Gibbs said. "He called this morning, probably right after morning prayers ended, and said I was right."

"Not that you're not usually right, but what specifically was he referring to?" DiNozzo asked.

As they got in the Charger and headed across the river to the Aziz home, Gibbs filled him in on the conversation he and Fornell had had with Amy's father the night before.

"And just like that, he changed his mind?" DiNozzo said when he was done.

"Maybe. Probably not. We'll see."

* * *

...to be continued...

Thank you to all who've chimed in so far. I enjoy feedback, long or short. If you haven't pitched in your two cents in a while, why not try it now? joy


	15. Chapter 15 - A Change of Heart?

**Chapter 15 - A Change of Heart?**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

*****Author's Note on Islam*****

I received a private message from a reader who was concerned about the way I was portraying the laws of Islam and Muslims in general in this story. While she had not read the entire piece and therefore had not caught many of the nuances I have put into the story, what she had read had bothered her. She made some points I found valuable and caused me to rework some of what is to come. (Hence the reason for the delay in posting this chapter.)

I wish to make it absolutely clear that the attitude and actions of Mr. Aziz to this point - and of others as the story proceeds - are not what I believe to be the attitudes and actions of the majority of Muslims. I believe the vast majority of the people of Islam are peace-loving, God-fearing people who would no more harm their children than cut off their own arms, and as the story proceeds, I think I make that abundantly clear. (We just haven't gotten there yet.) My new friend told me that most of the horrors we see and hear about regarding the treatment of women in Muslim countries is cultural, not religious, and therefore, not ordained by Islam. While I'm not absolutely certain she's right, I am more than willing to bow to someone who knows and lives the religion.

However, for the purposes of drama in this story, I have chosen to emphasize some of what is perceived to be wrong with Islam. Even as I do, however, I want to be certain you all understand that this is not how I see Muslims, and I have no desire to put down or bring derision upon the majority of those who pray for us, even as we pray for them.

-joykatleen (With much thanks to "Q" who was brave enough to speak up.)

* * *

_**Previously...**_

_"Where we going, Boss?" DiNozzo asked._

_"To talk to Amy's father," Gibbs said. "He called this morning, probably right after morning prayers ended, and said I was right."_

_"Not that you're not usually right, but what specifically was he referring to?" DiNozzo asked._

_As they got in the Charger and headed across the river to the Aziz home, Gibbs filled him in on the conversation he and Fornell had had with Amy's father the night before._

_"And just like that, he changed his mind?" DiNozzo said when he was done._

_"Maybe. Probably not. We'll see."_

_**And now, on with the story...**_

* * *

Aziz answered the door himself this time. His wife was nowhere to be seen. The house was silent, but Gibbs sensed that they weren't alone. They once again took seats in the living room.

"I have spent many hours considering what you said," Aziz said by way of opening. "I prayed for guidance from Allah."

"And?" Gibbs asked.

"The Law is clear. Amaya has dishonored her family and must be punished."

"You said in your message that I was right," Gibbs said.

"And you are," Aziz said. "Sharia is clear. However, it must be considered in conjunction with Fiqh, and that is where you are correct."

"Explain," Gibbs said.

"Fiqh is the application of the Law to the situation. Much like your judicial discretion, there are different means of punishment permissible dependent upon the situation. The severity of the punishment must fit the crime. In his case, as you have said, Amaya was immersed in temptation far beyond her ability to overcome. I clearly underestimated the depth of that temptation, and overestimated her ability to be strong among so many of the infidels. Perhaps, then, it was as much my failure as her father as it was her own. In that light, am I not at least partially to blame for her sin?"

"Okay," Gibbs said.

"Perhaps, then, the proper interpretation of Fiqh is that she is not subject to the Law in this case."

"So you won't punish her if she comes home?" Gibbs asked.

"She will be punished," Aziz said, "but in accordance with a full understanding of the situation. Amaya has made a tragic error of judgment. If we were home, in Afghanistan among other believers and she committed such a sin, she would be imprisoned or put to death. It is the Law. But here, in America, there is no such requirement. In fact, your law states quite the opposite. As long as she is here, Amaya is protected by your laws. As we would not allow Americans to come to our country and enforce their laws, so I will not enforce Sharia here in America. I will punish her only in accordance with your laws."

"So you won't further abuse her as long as she's here," DiNozzo spoke up.

"I have not abused any of my children," Aziz said firmly. "And I do not intend to start. Amaya will be safe here, and you have no evidence to the contrary. Your law also requires that, does it not? Evidence of wrong-doing before conviction?"

"We have evidence," DiNozzo said.

"I do not believe that is the case. If it is, you are welcome to try and prove it. In the meantime, I will take advantage of the laws under which we now live. I have consulted an attorney who has informed me that since Amaya is still a child, you cannot keep her from her home unless she is in imminent danger. I have already told you I will not enforce the requirements of Sharia upon her while she is here. She is therefore in no danger. You will return her to me."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and considered the man. Despite the lightly veiled threat that made Gibbs want to smack him, there was no deception there. Aziz believed what he was saying.

"If Amaya comes home, that's not going to be the end of it," he said. "A social worker will open a case, come by to check on all the kids."

"If you believe that is necessary," Aziz said, though he was clearly not happy with that idea.

"It's necessary," Gibbs stated. "The social worker will report directly to me. And if she tells me Amaya's got so much as a bruise, I'll have you shipped back to Afghanistan so fast you won't have time to pack. Without your children."

A glare flitted across Aziz's face before quickly disappearing. "She will come to no harm at my hand," he said.

Gibbs gave it another minute, then nodded. Aziz was sincere. He decided to throw out a wrinkle.

"We can't find any history on your wife," he said. Aziz frowned and took a breath.

"Why is my wife's past any concern of yours?" he asked.

"It's just odd, that there doesn't seem to be any information about her," DiNozzo said, picking up on Gibbs' lead. "Your background check prior to coming to the U.S. was extensive. Hers is blank."

"Your Department of Defense found what they needed to approve my employment visa. That is all you need to know."

Gibbs nodded, as if that was the answer he was looking for. In fact, it just made him more curious. If the DoD had found enough information in her background to approve her, it didn't make sense that McGee wouldn't have found it; either in their report, or independently. Now he really wanted to know what was being hidden, and by whom.

"We're done for now, but we'll be back soon," Gibbs said, and stood. DiNozzo followed suit.

"Will you be bringing Amaya, or should I contact my attorney?"

"You do what you need to, Mr. Aziz," DiNozzo said. "We'll be back shortly." The agents showed themselves out.

They'd again parked on the curb in front of the house, and Gibbs immediately noticed there was something on the windshield. A ball of paper was sitting in the gutter where the wipers rested. He picked it out and glanced up at the townhouse's windows. The blinds were all drawn. The agents got into the car.

"More kiss mail?" DiNozzo asked.

"Looks like it," Gibbs said. He untied the string – a piece of yellow yarn this time – and dumped four kisses into his palm. He flattened out the paper. The note was shorter, and Gibbs pulled out his glasses and read it himself.

"She says she's scared."

"Of what?" DiNozzo asked.

"Of what her father's going to do to Amy and the baby."

"How'd she find out about the baby?" DiNozzo asked.

"She was eavesdropping last night when Fornell and I were here."

"Ah. Anything else?" DiNozzo asked.

"She just wants us to know that Amy might get hurt if she comes home, and wants to know if we can help." Gibbs folded the paper.

"We're working on it, kiddo," DiNozzo said under his breath.

**15-15-15-15-15**

On the way back to the Navy Yard, Gibbs called Allison Hart and asked her to bring Amy down. Allison gave him a little crap about having to rearrange her schedule, but agreed to come.

"Anything yet, Ziva?" Gibbs asked when he arrived in the bullpen. He stowed his coat and gun.

"Not yet. It is already evening in the Middle East, and I am having difficulty reaching my sources. I will keep working on it."

Gibbs nodded and climbed the stairs to the director's office. He tossed his head toward the closed door and the director's secretary gestured for him to go in. It was a Gibbs' only nod to decorum: If the director had company, his secretary would say so. Otherwise, Gibbs would wait for no one. He tapped lightly on the door and pushed through.

"You take the girl home yet?" Vance said when he looked up and saw Gibbs.

"Not yet. We talked to the father last night. He basically confirmed everything Amy told us."

"Really?" Vance said, and leaned back in his chair. "He told you he was going to kill her if she came home?"

"Not in so many words. He quoted a lot of Sharia law at us. But this morning he says he's reconsidered, and he won't hurt her because U.S. law forbids it."

"Sounds like a bit of a sudden turnaround," Vance noted.

"Yes it does."

"You believe it?"

Gibbs gave it a moment's thought. "Not fully. He believes what he's saying. But there's something else there."

"Any idea what?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Not really. It might have something to do with his wife, Amy's mother."

"How so?"

"Unclear. When DoD brought him here, they ran a full background check on him. He came up clear. Hers says approved, but there's no details. McGee can't find anything about her past. I asked the father about it, he stonewalled me."

"Odd," Vance said. "Not sure what that has to do with the girl."

"Me either. But it's something."

Vance nodded, and the two men fell silent. Gibbs broke it a moment later.

"I don't want to send her home, Leon. I've got a bad feeling."

"Is there a choice?" Vance asked.

"Not really. He apparently consulted a lawyer last night, and he's claiming that without evidence of abuse, we can't keep her. He's demanding we bring her back."

"Maybe she needs a lawyer of her own."

"Covered."

"Really?" Vance said again.

"Her lawyer said the same thing. Without evidence of abuse or a clear threat, we have to send her home."

"And you have no such evidence."

"Not yet," Gibbs said.

Vance's expression said 'there you go.'

"What's your move?" Vance asked.

"It's up to Amy. If she wants to go home, Fornell's apparently got a social worker who's good at her job who'll open a case. I'll stay on it." Gibbs paused. "I don't think she's in immediate danger. The father believed what he was telling me, about not hurting her."

"And if Amy doesn't want to go home?"

"Then it's up to her lawyer and the social worker. I'll stay on that, too."

"I'm sure you will," Vance said. "Anything else?"

"You know what the father's connection is to SecNav?" Gibbs asked.

"No, except it's not Jarvis, it's Davenport."

Gibbs' eyebrows rose. Philip Davenport had resigned as Secretary of the Navy three years before.

"How does that work?" Gibbs asked.

Vance's expression said 'who knows.' "I got a call yesterday morning from Secretary Jarvis' office, telling me to put a team on it. I asked why, and was told it was a favor to Davenport. No additional details were offered."

That was odd. "Alright. Amy's on her way here. I'll let you know."

**15-15-15-15-15**

Downstairs, Amy was sitting in a visitor's chair beside McGee's desk, Allison leaning against the vacant desk at the end of their section. They were both drinking from coffee cups. There was a paper napkin with what looked like a bear claw sitting on McGee's desk next to Amy. Gibbs hoped no one had given Amy coffee. Last he'd heard, that much caffeine wasn't good for pregnant women. He rounded the stairs.

"Good morning, Amy," Gibbs said gently as he moved through the space. She was all wide eyes and a touch of fear this morning.

"Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs," she answered quietly. She was wearing the green abaya again, the hijab in place.

"Good morning, Mr. Gibbs," Hart said.

"Ms. Hart," Gibbs replied. "Would you ladies care to join me in the conference room?"

"Of course," Hart said. Gibbs gestured to DiNozzo, who lead the way.

"Whatcha got there?" Gibbs asked Amy as they got on the elevator. She was holding the cup in one hand, the pastry wrapped in its napkin in the other.

"Agent McGee brought me hot chocolate," she replied, her tone still understated. "With marshmallows and whipped cream. And a pastry he called a bear claw. I've never had anything like it before. It's really good."

Gibbs nodded approvingly. The doctor had told her she needed to put on a little weight, and that kind of calorie rush was a good start.

"Is that really what it's called? Or did Agent McGee make that up?" Amy asked as they entered the conference room.

"That's what it's called," Gibbs confirmed with a hidden smile. "It has something to do with the way it's shaped. Like a claw." He held up his hand, palm facing her, fingers curled in an imitation of a claw. He 'grrrred' a little, and she giggled.

Once everyone was seated, Gibbs turned to Hart.

"What did you find out, Ms. Hart?"

"Well Mr. Gibbs: For the long term issue, if we can find Amy a sponsor, she can be emancipated and get a visa to stay here on her own. Otherwise, we're going to have to show that returning her to Afghanistan represents a direct and immediate threat to her life."

"What about…" DiNozzo said, and Hart raised a hand.

"Let her finish," Gibbs said.

"Thank you," Hart said. "In the meantime, I've got Amy a tentative placement at Harbor House in Alexandria. They'll take her without parental authorization, but they'd like to have her either in the process of emancipation or there under authorization of the court. Have you gotten a social worker involved yet?"

"Fornell's got someone on standby," Gibbs said.

"Good. I've got the legal end, but we're going to need someone from Health and Human Services to sign off on their end. Harbor House is a maternity and newborn home, so Amy can stay there until her baby is six months old. That should be long enough to get the paperwork done for a permanent resident visa.

"The biggest hurdle is legal authorization to keep her away from her house. Unless you can show abuse or imminent threat of harm, you're going to have no choice but to return her if her parents want her home."

Hart paused, seemed to run down a list in her head, and nodded. "Any questions?"

"Any ideas on sponsorship?" Gibbs asked.

"Usually, it would be a family friend or someone from the church or social group. I'm not sure that would be a good idea in this case."

"Probably not," Gibbs agreed.

"What about Sgt. Hamilton? Could he do it?" DiNozzo asked.

Hart gave them a look that said 'maybe.' "Too many variables at this point. The sponsor has to be someone willing to support her financially, but not necessarily give her a home. It would depend on Sgt. Hamilton's resources, how long he plans to stay in the military, a few other things."

"Amy? You understand all this?" Gibbs asked.

"I understand," she said. "Ms. Hart explained it to me. She's trying to find somewhere I can live where my baby and I will be safe."

"That's right," Gibbs said. "Do you have any questions for us?"

"Did you speak to Father?" Amy asked.

"I did," Gibbs said.

"Did you tell him about… my baby?"

"Yes."

"Is he very angry?" she asked.

"He's very disappointed," Gibbs said. "And a little angry," he acknowledged. "But he told me as long as you're here in America, you're protected by our laws, and he can't punish you as he would under Sharia."

"Is that true?" she asked.

"Yes," Hart said. "It's like I told you last night: the law here protects children from others who try to hurt them. Even their parents."

Amy nodded and turned back to Gibbs. "Do you believe what he says? That he won't enforce the Law?" Gibbs heard the capital 'L' on the word. He told her what he'd told Vance.

"I believe he was telling the truth when he told me he wouldn't hurt you. He knows what the law here in America says, and he doesn't want to violate that. I think he likes living here better than in Afghanistan."

"It is much nicer here," Amy said. "We have much more freedom, and much more opportunity." She paused and rested her hand on her belly. "Maybe too much freedom."

"Not true," DiNozzo said, beating Gibbs to it. "Freedom is good. It's just that sometimes having the freedom to choose means we make mistakes. Sometimes our mistakes are small, sometimes they're big. But we all make them. And we learn from them. That's how freedom works."

"I'm scared," Amy said.

"I know," Gibbs said. "It's a scary thing." He paused. "Your father told me he wants you to come home, and he told me he won't hurt you. I believe him on both counts. But just in case, we're going to monitor the situation, make sure you stay safe."

"How will you do that?" Amy asked.

"Me and my team, and Ms. Hart, and a social worker we're going to meet later today, we're all going to check in with you regularly. If you think you're in danger, all you have to do is call one of us, or call 9-1-1, and we'll be right there."

"What if I can't get to a phone?" Amy asked.

"You keep your cell phone charged and with you all the time," DiNozzo said. "If that doesn't work, then you scream your head off. You live on a navy base, surrounded by naval officers and their families. If you start screaming, someone's going to call the MPs, and your neighbors might even come save you themselves."

"But I don't think that's going to be necessary," Gibbs reassured when he saw her eyes widening. "I believe your father. He's not going to hurt you." Not if he wants to live, Gibbs added silently. The level of protectiveness he felt for this child was extreme. He supposed if he wanted to examine himself, he could figure out why. But self-reflection of that nature was something he was loathe to do most of the time.

"I've never been away from home overnight before," Amy said suddenly. "I miss my family."

"Do you want to go home, Amy?" Allison Hart asked.

She thought about it for a few seconds. "Yes. I'm still scared. But I want to go home."

"Okay," Gibbs said. "We can make that happen."

"Thank you," Amy said, and reached up to swipe at her wet eyes. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's what we do," DiNozzo said. He saw Gibbs swallow hard and hid a smile. His boss didn't get emotional often, but it was nice to see every now and then.

"Ms. Hart, you have anything else?" Gibbs said after a moment.

"No. I would like to meet Amaya's father, though, give him a little schooling on how we do things around here."

"Not a problem," Gibbs said and thought to himself: That might be worth the price of admission all by itself.

**15-15-15-15-15**

Gibbs called Fornell. The FBI man had found a social worker to take Amy's case who would be available to meet her and her family this afternoon. Gibbs got the number and passed it on to Hart.

They drove together to Amy's house. Gibbs had decided to take Ziva, in case the opportunity presented itself to get anything more out of the mother. The two agents rode in the front, Amy and her lawyer in the rear.

"Hey Amy?" Gibbs asked a few minutes down the road.

"Yes?" She caught his eye in the rear view.

"Do you know your mother's parents? Your grandparents?"

"No. They died, way before I was born."

"Do you know how? Or where?"

"No. Father said they were gone before he and mother met."

"How did your parents meet?" Ziva asked, picking it up.

"At the University in Kandahar."

"Was your mother a student?" Ziva asked.

"I don't think so," Amy said. "But I don't really know. We don't talk about such things."

"Do you know if their marriage was arranged?"

"I don't. Why is that important?" she asked.

"It's not," Gibbs said. "We're just curious. We checked into your family's background when you were reported missing, and we couldn't find anything on your mother's history."

Amaya shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me. It's the male bloodline that's important. In my country, no one really cares where the women come from. Or where they go." She said this so matter-of-factly it made them all twitch.

"Do you know if she was born in Afghanistan?"

"I don't know," Amaya said. "But I don't think so."

"Why not?" Ziva asked.

"She is very fair," Amy said. "Father says she is…" Amaya frowned, looking for a word. She said something in Arabic, and Ziva nodded. "Albino," Ziva supplied.

"Yes. That's it. He has always said she is albino. But I read about it, and if that were true, she should have no or very little color in her hair, or in her eyes, or in her skin. But her eyes are brown and her skin is almost the color of mine. Her hair has gotten darker since I was little, but it was always brown and not black like mine."

"What does your mother say?" Hart asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"She says I should not ask such questions. She says some things are better not known."

"What does that mean?" Hart asked.

"It means Amy came by her ability to keep secrets naturally," Gibbs said and gave her a look that said 'leave it alone.' Allison stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, and Gibbs had to fight a little not to smile.

"There are many secrets in my family," Amy said, not noticing the exchange between the two adults. "Some are big. Most don't matter. It is the way it is."

They pulled up in front of the house and got out. Amy tugged at her gown, looking at herself to be sure it was hanging properly to disguise her baby. She looked up to find the agents and the lawyer watching her. She gave an embarrassed smile. "Guess I won't have to do that anymore."

"It'll be alright, Amy. You've got a good team on your side," Hart said.

They walked up to the house and Amy tapped lightly on the door before twisting the knob and letting herself in.

* * *

...to be continued...

Sorry for the missed update last weekend. (See author's note above.) If you've got anything to say, I'd love to hear from you. joy


	16. Chapter 16 - Amy Goes Home, Life Goes On

**Chapter Sixteen - Amy Goes Home, Life Goes On**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

"Father? I'm home," Amy called as she entered the house. There was no answer. She moved down the hall to the living room. Aziz was still there. As far as the agents could tell, he hadn't moved since they'd left.

"Hello, Mr. Aziz," Gibbs said. The older man looked at each of them in turn, his gaze settling on Amy last. He paused a beat before saying something to her in Arabic.

"Go to your room," Ziva translated under her breath. Aziz looked at her sharply, obviously surprised she understood his language.

"No, she's going to stay here while we talk about some things," Gibbs said. "Shall we sit?"

Aziz looked like he'd rather they'd all leave, but he granted permission. They each took seats, Amaya slipping off her shoes and pulling her feet up under herself on one of the side chairs. Gibbs noticed she kept her shoulders rounded forward to lessen the prominence of her belly.

"Mr. Aziz, this is Ms. Allison Hart. She's an attorney here in Washington, and she's been hired to represent Amaya's interests."

"Hired by who?" Aziz demanded. Gibbs stifled the sudden urge to correct his grammar – after all, the man was a teacher – and considered how to answer the question. Allison beat him to it.

"I can't see why that matters, sir," Ms. Hart said.

"Why does she need an attorney?" Aziz asked, his tone a shade less than demanding.

"As I'm sure Special Agent Gibbs has explained to you, we have some concerns about Amy's safety," Hart said. "I will be overseeing her case, and along with Agent Gibbs and a social worker from children's services who will come by this afternoon, we will be making certain Amy stays safe and well."

"Her name is Amaya," he said firmly. "This American penchant for shortening names is juvenile and offensive."

"I apologize if I insult you, sir, but the young lady prefers to be called Amy, and as her attorney, I abide by her wishes," Hart said.

Aziz stared at her with something like shock on his face. Gibbs supposed women didn't talk to him that way very often, in his home country or in this one.

"And how long am I to live under the eye of so many who claim to have more interest in Amaya's welfare than I?" he asked finally, returning to the matter at hand.

"Until we are all certain that nothing…" Ms. Hart searched for the best word. "…unpleasant is likely to happen to Amy or her child."

"Unpleasant," Aziz repeated.

"That is correct," Hart said. "Amy is here as a guest of the U.S. Department of Defense, and as long as she is here, she will be treated as a guest. Since there is some concern over what might happen to her should she remain at home, we will continue to keep an eye on her, and you, until we are certain that she will be safe. Her life has been disrupted enough because of this unfortunate situation, and she will not suffer any more than necessary as a result."

Aziz blinked, glanced at Gibbs, then back at Hart.

"You cannot expect me to allow Amaya to return to her life as if nothing has happened. Changes must be made."

"If you feel changes are necessary, I'm sure we can come to some understanding. I would be more than happy to mediate an agreement between you and your daughter, right now if you'd like." Aziz stared at her, the look on his face best described as flabbergasted. Gibbs said nothing. He was actually beginning to enjoy Aziz's obvious discomfort at Hart's forthright manner.

"What Amaya has done has brought shame to me, and to all of her family. She cannot continue to be out in the world, flaunting her immorality. She must stay hidden until the child is delivered. Her shame must not become public knowledge."

That made Gibbs frown, and glance sideways at Amaya. The teenager was looking down at her hands where they were clenched on her lap.

"What about school?" Hart asked. "She's in her senior year, and from what I've heard, she is a gifted student. Surely you would not keep her from earning her diploma?"

"She can complete the requirements for her diploma at home. My wife will teach her, as she does my younger daughter."

"Is that alright, Amy?" Hart asked. Amy chewed at her lower lip for a moment, then nodded.

"Father is right. It is necessary," she said quietly. Gibbs was impressed that her voice trembled only slightly. Amy was holding up well.

"When will the child be born?" Aziz asked, looking at Amy for the first time since she sat down.

"The doctor says I have about 10 weeks to go," Amy supplied, keeping her head down.

"You saw a doctor?" Aziz demanded, and added something in Arabic that made Amy sputter for a second before snapping her mouth shut. Ziva translated softly.

"He demands to know if the doctor touched her, accuses her of…" Ziva took a sharp breath and turned to Aziz, raising and hardening her voice. "The doctor did only what was necessary to determine that Amaya's baby was in good condition. You clearly do not know your daughter, if you believe such things."

"I thought I knew her," Aziz said, clearly pleased at getting the reaction from both Ziva and Amy. Hart reached over and touched Ziva lightly on the back of the hand, then gave a miniscule head shake.

"Mr. Aziz: Amy's doctor determined her health is at risk because she has not yet had medical care for her pregnancy. She will need to see her doctor every two weeks until her baby is born. We will arrange transportation for her. These trips are vital to Amy's health."

"Fine," Aziz said. "Except for these trips to the doctor, Amaya will stay here, in the house, until the child is born. That way no one will be subjected to the depth of her shame."

Ignoring the dig, Hart continued.

"What about the baby's father?" Hart asked. "He will want to see her."

"No," Aziz said firmly. "As far as I am concerned, Amaya was led into sin by that American boy. He will not ever set foot in my home. If he wishes to raise the child himself, he is welcome to have it. If not, I am certain there are many American families who would be willing to take in a bastard child."

"Father!" Amy objected. For a second, it looked like she would argue, but on seeing the glare on his face, she dropped her gaze to her hands again. She was squeezing her fingers so tightly her knuckles were white.

"No one is going to force Amy to give up her child," Gibbs stated. "And that includes you, sir."

Allison jumped back in. "As I explained to Amy, she has complete control over what becomes of her child, subject only – only – to the input of the birth father. Neither you, nor her mother, nor the boy's parents, have any decision-making power in that area. None. You can only offer advice, which Amy is free to ignore. She is aware of this, and she will make the decision she feels is best for her daughter."

"But she is hardly more than a child!" Aziz objected. "She has no concept of honor, or shame. She does not know what her life will be like, bearing such a burden."

"It's not a burden, it's a child," Hart said firmly.

"I think this has gone far enough for the moment," Gibbs interrupted. There was a split second of silent communication between the senior agent and the lawyer before Allison demurred. Gibbs turned his attention back to Aziz.

"You told me last night that you would not hurt Amaya if she returned home. Do you still stand by that?"

"Yes," Aziz said firmly.

"Say it," Gibbs commanded. "Tell Amaya what you told me."

Aziz hesitated before speaking. "Amaya is in no danger here. She will receive no punishment at my hand for the error she has made."

Gibbs turned to Amy. "You hear that, Amaya?" he asked. The girl nodded. "Do you believe him?"

"Of course. He is my father," Amy said.

"Not good enough," Gibbs said with minimal rebuke. "You're a smart girl, you've got pretty good instincts. You know your father. He's made promises to you before. Do you believe what he says?"

Amy thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yes. He does not lie to me."

"Good," Gibbs said, and returned to Aziz. "Amy wants to come home. You want her home. You told me and her in front of witnesses that she'll be safe and won't be harmed while she's here. There are details to be worked out, but I think Amaya's been through enough for now, and could probably use some rest. What do you say, Amy?"

"I am very tired," she said with a look of surprised relief.

"Alright. I'll have Ms. Hart bring the social worker back this afternoon and you can all sit down and work out where we go from here," Gibbs said. He turned back to Aziz. "In the meantime, you let Amy rest and do not discuss this with her unless she asks you to. Is that acceptable to everyone?"

"Fine," Aziz said, frustration clear.

"I believe it would be good if I returned as well," Ziva interjected, and Gibbs silently concurred.

"As you wish," Aziz said, though he was clearly not happy with that, either.

"It would probably be a good idea to have Amy's mother involved in the conversation, as well, don't you think?" Ms. Hart asked.

"No," Aziz said with a hard shake of his head. "It is not proper to have my wife involved in business such as this. You have dictated enough terms already."

Allison nodded, like that was as she expected.

"It's settled then," Ms. Hart said. "We'll see you this afternoon. Perhaps by then, some calm will have come into the situation and cooler heads will be allowed to prevail."

"Very well. Go on to your room, Amaya," Aziz said, though his tone was not as harsh this time as last. The girl rose and started out of the room. Gibbs stopped her.

"Amy?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to do something for me."

"What?" she asked.

"Is there a phone, a hard line, in the house?"

"Of course," she said.

"Until I say otherwise, I want you to call me, on the house phone." Gibbs paused to be sure she was getting that part of the message, then repeated it for good measure. "Call me on the house phone every morning sometime before lunch, and again before you go to bed."

"This is not proper!" Aziz insisted loudly, and Amy's eyes widened as she turned back to look at her father.

"I don't care," Gibbs said. "Amy?" She turned back to him. "You need to do this. You call me, twice every day, and let me know what's going on. We'll do that until both of us are absolutely sure you're safe. Can you do that?"

Amy glanced at her father again, then seemed to straighten up and nodded. "I can. I will."

"Good girl. And if you don't call, if you forget, or if something happens to you and you can't call, I'm going to come looking for you." He was still talking to Amy, but he was looking at Aziz. "If I have to come looking for you, I'm not going to be happy, especially if I find out someone was keeping you from checking in. Clear?" Now he was talking directly at the father. Aziz nodded, and Amy said "I understand."

"Good. Take my card. Keep it with you," Gibbs pulled out one of his business cards and scratched his cell number on the back. He handed it to Amy, who took it after one more glance at her father.

"Now you can go. Ms. Hart will be back to talk to you this afternoon." Amy nodded one more time and hurried out of the room.

"How dare you come into my home and dictate such things," Aziz said when she was gone. But his tone wasn't true to his words. He was barely putting up a fight now.

"This is how it's going to be, if you want your daughter back," Hart said. "You do what Agent Gibbs says, Amy stays safe, and soon enough you'll get the chance to be in charge again. Until then, consider her loaned back to you. Anything unpleasant occurs and in addition to whatever Special Agent Gibbs has promised you, know that you will be old and gray before you get through the legal trouble I can send your way."

The attorney paused, then continued in a softer voice. "Mr. Aziz, your daughter is about to become a mother. She wishes to keep her baby, your granddaughter. No matter how the baby was conceived, she will be your flesh and blood. Amaya is going to need your help, your support, to get through this. Can you not set aside whatever feelings of disappointment you have over her mistake and show your daughter that she is loved, not only when she's perfect, but when she makes mistakes, too?"

Aziz shook his head. "What you ask, it is not simple."

"I know that. Believe me, I do. But you are her father, and you have raised her to believe she is a precious treasure, in your eyes and in the eyes of your god. How can you turn your back on her in this moment when she so desperately needs you both?"

There was silence in the small room. After several moments, Ziva began to speak in Arabic. She spoke uninterrupted for a full minute, then switched to English.

"It is your choice. Do as Allah commands, or do as the laws of your world decree. But you know the truth: when there is conflict between the Book and the Law, a good Muslim must always follow the Book."

Aziz nodded solemnly. "I will consider these things."

"That is all we ask," Ziva said. She turned to Gibbs and Hart, who were regarding her with curiosity and confusion, respectively.

"You will return this afternoon?" Ziva asked Hart.

"Yes. I'm not sure when, I'll have to connect with the social worker first."

"Very well. Is there a time that would be more convenient for you?" Ziva asked Aziz.

"I have been off work for several days and will not return until next week. Please call me and let me know when you are on your way. I will be waiting."

"That is fine," Ziva said. She stood and Gibbs and Hart did the same, leading the way out of the living room. Ziva turned back.

"Until we meet again: Peace be with you," she said.

"And also with you," Aziz intoned.

Outside, Hart was first to speak.

"What did you say to him?" she asked.

"I quoted from the Quran, several passages that remind Muslims they must first forgive if they ever hope to be forgiven, and instructions about following the Law of God over the law of man. 'Only a blind man does as he is told without first looking at the consequences.' I reminded him he had a choice. It is not always such a black and white conclusion, in any religion."

To that, Gibbs could only nod agreement.

**16-16-16-16-16**

After dropping Ms. Hart and Ziva at the office and checking to see if anything had come up while they were gone – it hadn't – Gibbs went for more coffee. Cup in hand, he walked down the Yard to the pier overlooking the Anacostia near where the ceremonial ship 'USS Barry' was docked. He spent a few minutes watching the boats on the water.

Social work was not his forte. It came with the job sometimes, as it did for any enforcer of the law, but he didn't enjoy it. There were people far better trained and equipped to deal with the soft side of conflict than he was, and he'd always figured they ought to be the ones to handle it. If he'd wanted to become a negotiator or a peacekeeper, he'd have joined the UN. As a Marine – even a retired one – his first plan of action was always to solve problems by practical means. Then, if a softer touch was needed, offer referrals to people who knew what they were doing.

Which is exactly what he had done here. He'd made sure Amy's legal and social service needs were met, hooked her up with good people who'd take it from here. He was certain that with Allison Hart on her case, Amy would be well taken care of. And if there was anything that needed his intervention, the lawyer would call him.

So why had he told Amy to stay in touch with him? Why hadn't he just called it a job well done, left it to the professionals? Frankly, he wasn't really sure. The answers the father had given were acceptable, well within the limits of reason for a man from his background. Gibbs was as confident as he could be that Amy would be safe, from physical harm at least. The emotional stuff – which Gibbs knew could be just as damaging if not more so – was beyond his ability to prevent. The best he could do in that department was offer the girl a willing ear. Which was also so far beyond his normal comfort zone as to be considered bizarre.

But there was something… Gibbs knew this was not over. His gut wasn't providing any specific message, but it was churning just the same. As he sipped at his coffee and watched a sailboat move downriver, Gibbs let his mind wander back over the events of the last 24 hours. He reviewed random moments, things that were said, emotions and expressions. Nothing stood out.

His cell rang and Gibbs switched his coffee to his other hand to answer it. Dispatch. They were apparently back in the rotation.

**16-16-16-16-16**

A sailor had been found floating in Occoqan Bay off the Maryland shore of Potomac Shoreline Park. He'd been bludgeoned to death with a camping shovel they found at a nearby campsite. They spent the rest of that day and most of the next tracking down his long-time girlfriend who'd been on the camping trip with him and whose bloody fingerprints were found on the shovel. When they found her, it was unconscious in a hospital in Fort Washington. She had also been badly beaten, then thrown into the river. She'd been very lucky to be picked up within a very short time by a passing Coast Guard vessel, who transported her in critical condition. Unidentified and still unconscious, it was only luck that put a visiting medical equipment vendor servicing the bed in her room together with a 'be-on-the-lookout' notice sent to all hospitals that he'd found loose on a counter and used to write a note to himself. Gibbs and his team were then able to compare her wounds to her dead boyfriend's and realize they'd both been the victim of some third party.

Having lost that lead and the invaluable first 24 hours of investigation, they started again.

Allison Hart called late that first afternoon. Gibbs didn't have time for details, but she told him it had gone well with the social worker. Amy seemed very nervous at the meeting, Allison reported, but she had handled herself well and by the end of the meeting seemed to be comfortable with the situation.

The young mother-to-be herself called as instructed around nine. She was fine, the meeting with Ms. Hart and Mr. Villegas – the social worker was a man who had actually seemed to impress her father – had gone fine. Gibbs tried to focus on what she was saying, but the present case had almost all of his attention. She assured him everything was well and promised to call in the morning.

**16-16-16-16-16**

Over the next few days, the workload waxed and waned as it always did at NCIS. They solved the case of the dead sailor and his battered girlfriend with an arrest Saturday afternoon. Turns out the young couple had stumbled onto a drug operation in the National Park. One of the dealers had noticed the sailor's military gear and moved to eliminate the perceived threat. Gibbs slept hard Saturday night, then spent Sunday in his basement working on the dollhouse. In the first two days of the new week, they were assigned and solved two equally disheartening cases. The first involved a commander re-routing funds intended for needy military families into his personal slush fund. The second was a young female Marine who reported being raped by her immediate superior while deployed in Helmund Province. She, and he, had returned that week from deployment and for the first time she felt safe enough to report it.

Through it all, Amy called Gibbs twice a day, at 11 a.m. and 9 p.m., regular as clockwork. She always said virtually the same thing: She was fine, she was keeping up with her studies at home, she was feeling okay. Her father was making her spend all her free time studying the Quran, and was supervising her prayers five times a day, but was otherwise mostly leaving her alone. She was bored, but it was okay. She was less afraid, of him anyway. She was still worried about what was going to happen after her baby was born. Ms. Hart and Mr. Villegas were working on it. Gibbs would listen, ask a few questions, try to draw her out. She would add few details, but he sensed she was telling the truth: Her life was dull, but she was safe.

Gibbs took half a dozen calls from Daniel Hamilton in the first few days, until he told him it was okay to call Amy directly on her cell phone. Gibbs then called Sgt. Hamilton and asked him to be sure Daniel kept his calls short and infrequent. He understood why the young man wanted to talk to Amy, but he didn't want the cell phone to be discovered.

The senior agent also kept in touch with Allison Hart and the District social worker. Allison had brought the man to the office before their second visit to Amy's house on Monday, and Gibbs had been reasonably impressed. Villegas had listened to Gibbs' concerns, responded intelligently, and provided the right answers. Fornell had been right: There apparently were some good ones. Not that he'd tell Fornell that. The G-man didn't need Gibbs boosting his ego.

By the end of that week, they'd been assigned three more cases, only one of which they were able to close. They were literally snowed under. Gibbs had precious little time to spend on Amy's situation, but he kept track of her calls, making sure they came on schedule. There was little change in her reports. It looked like the status quo wasn't changing.

When Gibbs' phone rang in the middle of Friday morning, he was in the director's office. His team was working on the case of a murdered sailor who had apparently been killed by someone he'd picked up for a sexual encounter. His shipmates had reported he was known to pick up hookers occasionally, and they were going with the theory that that's what had gotten him killed. They were planning to spend the late evening and early night tonight on the streets, talking to the locals to see if anyone had noticed who their dead sailor picked up. It was a plan that would require a few more bodies than Gibbs had, and he was seeking the director's approval to bring in reinforcements.

Gibbs glanced at the phone's screen and saw Amy's number. He realized she was more than an hour early and held up a hand to Leon.

"Hi Amy, you alright?" he asked in greeting.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you I'm leaving the house. I won't be back until this evening sometime, so I won't be able to call you at the regular times."

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Father says my faith is stronger now. He wants me to go with the family to the mosque for Friday prayers."

"Really?" Gibbs said.

"Yes. We will be there at least until the Majhurib, the sunset prayers. After that, I'm not sure when we'll be home."

"Okay." He paused. "Is that alright?"

"Yes. I want to go. I'm going crazy in the house."

Gibbs smiled. He just bet she was. "You're not going to try to sneak off and meet with Daniel, are you?"

Amy giggled, a sound that was beautiful to Gibbs' ear. "No way. Father would really kill me then."

Gibbs was glad she was secure enough now to joke about it. "Good. Thanks for letting me know. Call me…" he paused, considering what she'd said about when she'd be home, and what the rest of his night was likely to be like.

"Call me in the morning, okay?"

"I will. Be careful out there." She had started ending her calls that way a few days before. Gibbs knew it came from an old TV cop show, though he couldn't remember which one. He'd thought it odd when she first started it, wondering where she'd heard it. But in the interim, he'd begun to anticipate it.

"Copy that," he said, which had become his standard response. She giggled again and hung up. Gibbs returned his attention to Leon.

* * *

...to be continued...

So, we've reached a status quo. Amy's doing okay and life goes on, you know? So why is Gibbs' gut still churning? All I can say is, hang on, my friends. The ride's about to get real bumpy. joy


	17. Chapter 17 - A Call in the Night

**Chapter Seventeen - A Call in the Night**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs had been asleep less than two hours when his cell phone rang. He groaned and reached for it. They weren't on call, so Gibbs figured there were only two possibilities: Either there'd been some action on one of their cases, or someone was about to feel the full extent of his wrath.

"Gibbs," he grunted.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS?" A male voice, confident, unknown to him. Gibbs sat up.

"Yes?" he said.

"Detective Cervantes, D.C. Metro P.D."

Gibbs scrubbed at his face with his hand. "What can I do for you?" he asked. Apparently there was a third possibility.

"I'm down here at Washington University Hospital with an assault victim I'm hoping you can help us identify," he said.

"Okay," Gibbs said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"The victim was found unconscious, badly beaten, in a construction site in Kalorama."

"Navy or Marine?" Gibbs asked.

"We're not thinking she's either. She had your card in her hand."

Gibbs considered the number of women he'd handed his card to tonight and mentally sighed. "I give my card to a lot of people," he told them.

"I'm sure. But if you could come down here and take a look at her, it would really help us out. This woman's pretty badly hurt, and she's probably got a family who'd like to know she's in trouble."

"Yeah, alright. GW, you said?"

"That's right."

"Be half an hour or so."

"We'll be here. Trauma 2."

Gibbs hung up and stretched his back. He was too getting old for this. They'd spent three hours last night walking the streets of the District, talking to working girls – and a few boys – and they'd found no one who claimed to remember a young sailor in blue jeans and a green windbreaker out cruising. It had started to rain just before midnight, getting steadily harder and pushing all but the diehards indoors. That had ended their night a little earlier than he'd planned. Nonetheless, by the time they'd finished his knees were killing him and his low back was aching. Usually, three or four hours sleep would take care of both. He hadn't even gotten that much. The clock on the microwave told him it was almost four a.m. The noise on the roof told him it was still raining, and fairly hard.

Thirty-five minutes after the phone call, coffee in hand, Gibbs arrived at George Washington University Hospital Trauma Center. He'd dressed in jeans and a red Marine hoodie, a thigh-length khaki combat jacket protecting him from the worst of the wet, his holstered sidearm in the small of his back. Gibbs hadn't bothered with a shower, figuring to go straight back to bed as soon as finished this little errand. He showed his badge at security then hung it around his neck before heading into the treatment area. At triage, he asked directions to Trauma 2 and followed them.

A pair of Hispanic men in dark gray trench coats were standing outside a glassed-in cubicle. The curtains were pulled, blocking their view of the room. They were identical in build and close in height, one about two inches shorter than the other. The shorter one had a thick mustache, the taller was clean shaven. They both had the law enforcement look about them: We're confident, strong in body and mind, we've seen it all and we don't take nothing from no one. Their coats were wet from the rain in patterns that showed they'd been standing around in it. He approached them.

"Gibbs, NCIS," he introduced himself.

"Cervantes and Fernando, Metro PD," the taller man said, indicating first himself, then his partner. "Thanks for coming."

"Not a problem," Gibbs said. "Don't think I'm going to be much help."

"Oh?" Cervantes asked.

"We spent the night interviewing working girls in the District. I probably gave my card to fifty women, and got only a few names."

"You give them all your cell number?" Cervantes asked.

"No." Gibbs frowned and cocked his head. "The card had my personal cell number on it?"

"If that's where we called you," Fernando said.

"You weren't routed through dispatch?" Gibbs asked, confused. It was routine for the dispatchers at NCIS to patch callers through to his cell when they thought it necessary.

"Nope. It's here." Cervantes pulled a small plastic evidence bag out of his pocket and held it up. Gibbs squinted through the plastic. The card was crumpled and dirty, and there was blood on it, but his cell phone number was readable. In his handwriting. Gibbs felt a stone settle into his gut.

"Let me see her," he said and turned toward the doorway to the cubicle.

"You'll have to wait a few more minutes," Fernando said. "They're working on her.

"Describe her," Gibbs said.

"About five feet, thin build, short dark hair in a real rough cut, possibly Middle Eastern or Spanish, from Spain."

The stone turned into a boulder. "Oh God," Gibbs said, the words coming out slightly strangled. "Is she pregnant?" The men looked at him strangely.

"She was. You know who she is?" Cervantes asked.

"Son of a bitch," Gibbs said softly. A rushing sound filled his ears and his vision grayed over. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath, making tight fists with both hands and fighting back his sudden rage by sheer force of will. Losing it at this point would accomplish nothing. But he really wanted to punch something. Or better yet, someone. A very specific someone.

"You said she 'was' pregnant," Gibbs said. His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. "Is the baby alright?"

"She had an emergency c-section about ten minutes after she arrived," Cervantes said. "Baby's early, had a little trouble breathing at first, but seems to be holding on."

"How badly is she hurt?" Gibbs asked.

"Who is she?" Fernando asked instead of answering.

The curtain twitched and a nurse came through it. "You can go in now," she said on seeing the three men standing there.

Gibbs was the first one through. He got a good look at the patient on the bed and felt a vice close around his heart. Amy was barely recognizable. She was lying on her back, covered by a hospital sheet to just under her arms. Her face was dark red and severely swollen. Her eyes were blackened and bulging under the lids. There was little definition in her face, with her cheekbones virtually level with her nose and eyes. A breathing tube emerged from her mouth, running to a ventilator that was blowing her chest up and down in regular rhythm. Her neck was in a stiff collar, keeping her head in line with her body and tipped slightly back. Her shoulders and arms were covered with dark bruises and traces of blood.

"Who is she?" Cervantes asked again from just behind his shoulder. Gibbs took a breath.

"Her name is Amaya Aziz. She's one of ours."

"Isn't she a little young to be a sailor?" Fernando asked, clearly surprised.

"She's a navy dependent," Gibbs said. He figured the details could wait. "Where'd you find her?"

"A security guard at a construction site in Kalorama found her during a routine sweep just after midnight. Someone partially buried her body and tried to hide the rest of her under a pile of rocks. Whoever beat her probably figured she was dead. Security guard noticed the rock pile hadn't been there on his last pass and went to see what it was about. She was unresponsive, barely breathing. After the ER docs delivered the baby and got her stabilized, they found your card in her hand. It was rolled up tight in her fingers, like she was clenching it while they beat her."

Gibbs cleared his throat again. He was finding it difficult to speak. "They?" he asked. "You have evidence of that?"

"Just a theory at this point, but her injuries are too severe for a single attacker."

"What are her injuries?" Gibbs asked. A young blond man in scrubs who had been doing paperwork in one corner of the room looked up.

"She's broken. Arms, ribs, collar bones, shoulder blades, jaw, skull, facial bones, several vertebrae. Just about every one of the major bones above her waist is broken. And that's just the orthopedic injuries. There's significant soft tissue and organ damage. She's probably got a traumatic brain injury, and likely has some degree of spinal cord damage."

"How the hell does that happen?" Gibbs asked, his tone one of shock.

"Usually, it's a high fall, or a vehicle versus pedestrian. But her injuries don't fit either pattern. Whatever it was, it hit her hard and repeatedly, while she was restrained: There're ligature marks on her wrists. They'll be taking her up to surgery shortly to stabilize the most critical fractures and repair as much of the organ damage as they can."

"What's the prognosis?" Gibbs asked.

"Very poor. I'll be surprised if she lives through the next 24 hours."

For several moments, there was no sound other than the beeping of machines and the wooshing of the ventilator.

"You know how to contact her family?" Cervantes asked. Gibbs nodded, then turned away and pushed through the curtain back into the hall.

"My team will take it from here," he told the detectives, who'd followed him out.

"You're planning to take over the case?" Fernando asked. Gibbs wasn't sure if he was annoyed or relieved.

"We are," he said unequivocally. "She's one of ours, and we have the history. You get any forensics from the scene?"

"Not really," Cervantes said. "She was dressed, no fluids on her body. The rocks she was buried in are in a truck at our lab, as is some trace evidence from the dirt she was on and in. They were pretty wet by the time we got them packaged, so it'll probably be a waste of time. That, photographs of the scene and the interview with the guard are all we got. Plus, we already shot injury photos."

"I'll need those, and the guard's contact information. I'll send someone over for the truck." He paused. "Did the doctors cut her hair?"

"No. She was like that when she was found."

Gibbs filed that away.

"If you give me your email, I'll send over the photos," Fernando said.

Gibbs gave them McGee's. Fernando wrote down the information on the guard and handed it over, and each man handed Gibbs a card. He thanked them for calling him and they left him there.

Gibbs went to the trauma center unit clerk's desk and identified himself. He told her he'd need to talk to the doctor responsible for Amaya's care, and was told he already had: The young man in the room with her was a trauma specialist. Gibbs privately noted that the experts around him seemed to be getting younger every day.

He gave the clerk Amaya's name, said he'd need full access to her medical records. The clerk reported that unless a next of kin showed up and objected, it wouldn't be a problem. On that note, he put a 'no visitors' restriction on Amaya to be sure no one showed up to finish the job, then asked where they'd taken the baby. He was directed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit – she called it the Nic-U, and had to explain – on the sixth floor. On the way up, he called DiNozzo.

"Amaya's at the trauma center at GW. She's been beaten, not expected to live," Gibbs said when he had his second's attention.

"God damn it!" DiNozzo cussed loudly. "Her father do it?"

"No evidence yet," Gibbs said.

"What do you want me to do?" DiNozzo asked.

"Take Ziva and go pick him up. Find out where he says she is. Put eyes on the other kids, be sure they're alright. Especially Sadie. Then stick him in a cell until I'm ready for him."

"We have probable cause for an arrest?"

"Hell, DiNozzo, I don't know. Just do it."

"On it. Is her baby going to be okay?"

"Delivered by c-section. I'm on my way there now."

"You want me to call the Hamiltons?"

"I'll do it when I know something." Gibbs hung up.

**17-17-17-17-17**

Security at the NICU was tighter than in trauma. Gibbs held up his badge and showed his ID, which the guard hand him hold out long enough to copy the information in a computer log. Gibbs told him he didn't know the name of the baby he was here to see, and briefly explained the situation. The guard called inside, spoke for a minute, then hung up.

"Talk to Sonia," he said, and pushed a button to unlock the entrance doors.

Sonia turned out to be a short, slim, 40-something Slavic woman with a blonde bob and a tired expression. She stepped out to meet him as he strode down the hall.

"Officer Gibbs?" she asked.

"Special Agent. NCIS," Gibbs corrected. "I'm here to check on a baby."

"Baby Girl Unicorn," Sonia said with a nod. Gibbs' expression was of confusion, and she smiled. "When trauma victims come in without identification, we assign them a random noun in alphabetical order and a medical file number. Her mother was Unicorn 457727. So she became Baby Girl Unicorn. If we end up having to name her, we'll pick something better."

"How is she?" Gibbs asked.

"Doing pretty well, considering," she said as they walked down the hall. "She's about eight weeks early, and her mother wasn't breathing well for an unknown amount of time before she was born, which means the baby wasn't getting sufficient oxygen. Her mother's injuries also dropped her blood count. Her heart rate was dangerously low by the time she was delivered. Her first APGAR…" Sonia paused. "You know what that means?"

"I used to. It's been a long time," Gibbs admitted.

"It's a scale of zero to ten that represents the relative health of a newborn. It's taken at one minute and five minutes post-delivery, then every five minutes until it's normal or stable. At one minute her score was only a two. At five minutes, it was up to a five, and it stabilized at six, still lower than we'd like."

"Okay," Gibbs said. "Is she going to make it?"

"There's a very good chance. Her drug screen at birth was positive for opioids, which contributed to her initially poor respirations. We gave her narcan, which counteracted the sedative effect and helped improve her breathing. She's still having some trouble so we're helping her out with that, and she's a little underweight, even for her gestational age. She got a pint of blood, and she's pinking up, trying to breathe more, and fussing a bit. Her heart rate is normal now and her blood pressure is strong. We don't know how long she might have been deprived of oxygen before she got here, so we don't know if she suffered a brain injury."

"What kind of drugs did she have in her system?" Gibbs asked.

"Could be a lot of things, from codeine to heroin. The drug-specific screen takes a few hours."

"How much?" Gibbs asked.

"Enough to cause respiratory distress at her birth, but not enough to indicate long-term abuse by the mother."

"Her mother wasn't a drug user," Gibbs said, leading him to wonder how the hell opioids had gotten into Amy's system. Sonia gave him a second to add something, and continued when he didn't.

"Well, for now we've got her in an isolette to help her maintain her body temperature, and she's on a ventilator to support her breathing. We're monitoring her closely, that's basically all we can do. The rest is up to her. This way."

The nurse gestured him into an anteroom. Through large windows, he could see a room with four stations, each with an incubator surrounded by monitoring equipment. Two of the stations were occupied. The one nearest the door had a woman sitting in a chair next to the incubator with her hand inside, lightly rubbing the leg of a tiny infant. The station furthest from the door held a baby Gibbs couldn't make out. Amaya's baby, he presumed. A nurse was there.

"You want to go in?" Sonia asked. When Gibbs answered in the affirmative, she directed him to take off his jacket and wash up at a nearby sink.

The woman at the occupied station looked up when they came in and smiled, though she had clearly been crying. Sonia and Gibbs both smiled at her as they passed.

Inside the other incubator – isolette, Sonia had called it – was the tiniest baby Gibbs had ever seen. She was barely 16 inches long, and Gibbs couldn't even guess at how little she weighed. She was lying on her back with her upper arms and thighs sticking straight out from her body, her lower arms and legs making 90 degree turns at the elbow and knee. She was so thin he could see her bones, and her body was covered with a dark colored fuzz, a little lighter than the thick black hair on her head. There was a soft pink cloth blindfold over her eyes that covered her from hairline to the bottom of her nose. Micro-size heart monitor leads were stuck to her chest and legs. A small breathing tube came out of her mouth, connected to a ventilator that dwarfed her. There was another, tinier tube snaking out of her nose and taped to her cheek. An IV was in her belly button above a diaper smaller than a dinner napkin. Her chest and abdomen were see-sawing back and forth with the effort of each breath and every once in a while her arms and legs would jerk and flail.

"Is she in pain?" Gibbs asked softly.

"No," Sonia said confidently. "The flailing is actually a good sign. We worry when they're too still. Breathing is work, and she's working hard. The vent is helping, but she's doing most of it herself."

"How much does she weigh?"

"Two pounds, twelve ounces. Like I said, she's small. But she's a fighter."

"Are you family?" the other nurse asked.

"No. I'm investigating the attack on her mother," Gibbs said.

"On her, too," the second nurse added.

"Yes." He looked down at the baby, saying nothing more. The two women watched, waiting.

"Her mother's last name is Aziz. Her father will be here shortly, a kid named Daniel Hamilton. Will there be any problem getting him in?"

"Nope," Sonia said. "We'll note the name, and he'll need to show ID. Should it be Baby Girl Aziz or Hamilton?"

"Probably Aziz. They're not married. They're just kids themselves, 16 and 17."

The nurses exchanged looks and Sonia sighed. "Her chances just got a little worse. Teen parents of premature infants are not the best caretakers. Do either of them have family willing to help?"

"I'll have to get back to you." He took one last look at the tiny baby, working so hard to breathe, and turned away.

"If there's any change, call me." He gave her one of his cards. He was almost out.

"Will do," Sonia said. Gibbs thanked her and left.

**17-17-17-17-17**

Gibbs returned to Trauma. There'd been no change in Amy's condition in the short time he'd been gone. He stood at the end of her bed with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, watching the ventilator force breath into her lungs. Sixteen hours ago, she'd giggled in his ear. She'd been excited and scared about becoming a mother, happy to just be getting out of the house. She had her whole life ahead of her. Now, it would be a miracle if she lived another day.

There had been times in his life and career when Gibbs had seen evil. He'd been witness to men hurting and killing other men in a multitude of ways. Sometimes his stomach had turned at the horrors he'd seen. Sometimes he'd been angry enough over what he'd seen to strike out, or to seek retribution after the fact. He looked at the evil that had been done to this child, for no greater sin than believing herself to be in love, and he knew this was one of those times. He wanted to lash out, to attack, to hit and pummel and pound. He wanted to seek vengeance for the harms done to this little girl, and her little girl, in the name of a perverted version of a centuries-old religion. Standing here, his fists clenching and unclenching in his pockets, he knew there was no way he could interrogate Aziz unless he got a grip. If he tried, he was pretty sure Aziz wouldn't survive the experience.

"Are you family?" A voice behind him, and Gibbs spun toward it, reaching for his gun, startled. A young woman in pink scrubs had come through the curtain. She took a step back at what she saw on his face. He relaxed and schooled his features, dropping what he imagined was probably a rather frightening look.

"No. I'm working her case," he said.

"Oh," she said. "I was just bringing in this." She held up a small strip of white plastic. A name band.

"It's okay," he said. She slipped past him to the bed and placed the band around Amy's right wrist. Gibbs could see the marks of whatever they'd tied her hands with, burned into her skin.

"You can sit here, if you'd like," she said, and indicated a visitor's chair that was tucked out of the way in a corner.

"I'm not staying," he said.

"It would be really good if you could find her family, now that we know who she is," the woman said. "It sometimes helps to have someone the patient knows in the room. They don't even have to talk. Just a familiar smell can make a difference."

"Noted," Gibbs said. He didn't explain that it was probably Amy's family that had done this to her. The woman smiled and slipped out.

Gibbs stood for a few minutes, willing himself to calm. He knew he needed to call Sgt. Hamilton, get Daniel down here. And for that he needed to be in control.

Gibbs had made notifications to the family members of subordinates and colleagues who'd been injured or killed many times in his career. Whether in person or over the phone, it sucked. In person, the words usually didn't have to be spoken. There wasn't a member of the armed forces who didn't know what it meant when a superior arrived at the door unexpectedly. Especially if accompanied by a chaplain and a CACO. The message was delivered by the arrival of the messenger. Then, it was just a matter of details. And tears.

Over the phone, he didn't have to be present for the emotional storm that followed. But he had to say the words. And the words never came easy.

Gibbs stepped over to the bed. He reached carefully through the tubing and dressings and took Amaya's hand. It was limp and almost cold. He squeezed her hand gently, looking at her battered face for any response. There was none. He leaned down close to her ear and spoke in a slow, measured whisper.

"Amy, it's Gibbs. You're in the hospital. You're going to be fine. You just hang on, and keep fighting. Your little girl needs you. She was born a little early, and she's fighting hard to live. She needs her mother to take care of her. So you need to fight, too. You hear me?" He paused and looked at her again. Stillness. "I know you're hurting right now, but you're going to be fine. Got it? I'm gonna call Daniel, and he'll come down and be with you. Until you're better, I'll make sure someone stays with you so you're not alone. It's gonna be alright."

Gibbs squeezed her hand one more time, then withdrew. He stepped out into the hallway and took out his cell. He glanced at his watch: 5:15 a.m. Gibbs placed the call to Sgt. Hamilton, keeping it short. Amaya's been hurt. Badly. They should come down. Now.

* * *

...to be continued...

Don't hate me, 'kay? You knew this was where we were going. Didn't you? Reviews and comments, as always, greatly appreciated.


	18. Chapter 18 - Medieval Justice

**Chapter Eighteen - Medieval Justice**

**by joykatleen **

* * *

Previously...

_Gibbs stepped over to the bed. He reached carefully through the tubing and dressings and took Amaya's hand. It was limp and almost cold. He squeezed her hand gently, looking at her battered face for any response. There was none. He leaned down close to her ear and spoke in a slow, measured whisper._

_"Amy, it's Gibbs. You're in the hospital. You're going to be fine. You just hang on, and keep fighting. Your little girl needs you. She was born a little early, and she's fighting hard to live. She needs her mother to take care of her. So you need to fight, too. You hear me?" He paused and looked at her again. Stillness. "I know you're hurting right now, but you're going to be fine. Got it? I'm gonna call Daniel, and he'll come down and be with you. Until you're better, I'll make sure someone stays with you so you're not alone. It's gonna be alright."_

_Gibbs squeezed her hand one more time, then withdrew. He stepped out into the hallway and took out his cell. He glanced at his watch: 5:15 a.m. Gibbs placed the call to Sgt. Hamilton, keeping it short. Amaya's been hurt. Badly. They should come down. Now._

And now, on with the story...

* * *

Gibbs returned to the room and again took off his jacket, hanging it over the back of the visitor's chair. He pulled the chair up next to the bed and sat down. Placing a hand gently on Amaya's forearm, he settled in to wait.

Years of practice meant it was only a few minutes before Gibbs' mind was filled with random thoughts. He'd long ago learned that while it was virtually impossible to think about nothing, given the right circumstances he could keep his mind skipping around and not have to put much thought into anything. The sound of the ventilator helped: It was almost mesmerizing in its unending repetition of 'woosh, paaaaa; woosh, paaaaa.'

By keeping his thoughts from settling on the cause of Amaya's injuries, Gibbs was hoping to keep his anger at bay as long as possible. He knew the time would come when he'd have no choice but to let it loose. But it would be better if he was able to channel it at the range, the gym, or the batting cages. Letting it out here would be… counterproductive.

Gibbs was deep in his head when someone put a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, half rising from the stool, hand swinging out in a chopping motion to defend himself. The person jumped back.

"Whoa, Boss, it's me," Tim McGee said, his voice higher than it ought to have been. He had his hands up and his weight back, instinctively ready to react. He was holding a cup of coffee in each hand, which he'd managed not to drop.

"McGee," Gibbs said, relaxing back onto the stool. Caught off guard twice in less than an hour. That hadn't happened in decades.

"You…" Gibbs paused, changed his mind. "What're you doing here?" he asked instead.

"Tony called me, said I should come down." He held out one of the cups to Gibbs, who took it with a nod of thanks.

"Why?" he asked. He turned back to Amy. She had not responded, to any of it.

"He said you needed me here," McGee said.

"I don't," Gibbs said. McGee looked like he was about to say something, but held it. He turned to look at the bed. Gibbs sipped at the coffee. He'd been expecting watered-down hospital swill and was pleasantly surprised to taste his preferred brew.

"She looks bad," McGee said quietly, drinking from his own cup.

"She is bad. Doc says she probably won't make it."

McGee's face tightened and his lips pursed. Gibbs could see his jaw clench.

"Tony said he and Ziva were going to arrest her father," McGee said after a minute of examining the monitors and their readings.

"They are," Gibbs said.

"Are you sure he did it?" McGee asked.

"Or had it done," Gibbs said. "Who else?"

"Maybe she was just… I don't know, maybe something else happened," McGee said.

"You know how I feel about coincidences," Gibbs stated.

"I know. Me too. But how could her own father…" he trailed off.

"I don't know, McGee," Gibbs said with a sigh. "Honest to God, I don't know."

Both men stared at Amaya for a few more minutes before Gibbs gestured toward the stool the doctor had been sitting on. "Pull up a chair."

McGee did, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed.

Tony had called McGee a few minutes after Gibbs had called him. As senior agent and second in charge of the team, it was DiNozzo's job to make assignments when Gibbs didn't. McGee's assignment was simple and complicated at the same time: He was to go to the hospital and sit with Gibbs. Why? McGee had asked. To keep Gibbs from losing it, was DiNozzo's answer.

McGee immediately understood the reasoning. Gibbs' feelings weren't something he shared very often. A simple 'good job' when they did right, a headslap when they were being stupid, a harsh word or two when they screwed up: That was usually all they got from him. But occasionally, something pushed him over the edge and then all hell broke loose. On those occasions, Gibbs would lash out, often putting himself and his career at risk. McGee had once seen Gibbs provoke a man half again his size into a fight, just so he could beat him like the man had beat Abby. One of the first times McGee had worked with Gibbs, the senior agent had slammed a handcuffed Navy Captain into a wall so hard he'd broken the man's wrist. The only thing that kept Gibbs from being fired or worse was the fact that the Captain had arranged to have his wife and daughter kidnapped so he could steal a million dollars from the Navy. But McGee had never forgotten the shock he'd felt seeing his boss lose it. He'd actually thought Gibbs might kill the guy.

McGee knew Gibbs had promised Amy and Daniel that he would make sure she was safe. That he wouldn't let anyone hurt her. McGee also knew that Gibbs was a man who took promises seriously. The junior agent could imagine what was going on inside Gibbs' head: Deserved or not, Gibbs would feel like he was responsible for this. And that would make him angry. Very, very angry.

Left to his own devices, Gibbs would self-destruct. Everyone who knew him knew that. It might happen tonight, or it might take a few days. But it was virtually inevitable.

DiNozzo had told McGee to keep an eye on Gibbs, to try and redirect the anger away from people who didn't deserve it when it came. Unspoken was the possibility that the anger might find a target in McGee. The younger man knew that, and was as prepared as he could be. The things Gibbs had done for him over the years… McGee would do this because Gibbs needed him to. Whether the older man knew it or not.

"What do we know?" McGee asked after the silence grew long.

Gibbs relayed what the Metro cops had told him. "I'll have Abby see if she can find anything on the rocks. Talk to the security guard in the morning. Go to the scene at first light."

"Will you talk to the father?" McGee asked.

"Eventually," Gibbs answered.

McGee paused. "What will you say to him?"

Gibbs shook his head. He couldn't let it out. Not here. Not yet. He drank more coffee.

"Is there anything you need me to be doing?" McGee asked after a minute. Gibbs shook his head again. His phone rang, cutting off further conversation. It was Tony.

"Aziz says she disappeared while they were at the Mosque. He assumed she ran away again, decided if that's what she really wanted, he'd let her go and didn't report it."

"Right," Gibbs said.

"Also said he was with his wife the entire afternoon and night. They finished evening prayers, went to gather the kids from the children's area. Amy wasn't there. They looked around for her a bit, they went home."

"You prompt him for that?" Gibbs asked.

"I asked where Amy was. He volunteered the first part. I told him she'd been hurt, asked where he'd been tonight. He gave me the rest."

"How'd he react?"

"He tried to be surprised," DiNozzo said. "But he knew."

Gibbs bit back a snarl. "Kids okay?"

"Frightened. Both of them. Yameen knows something."

"You think he knows what happened to her?"

"He knows something," DiNozzo repeated.

"You talk to him?"

"No chance. We only saw them for a minute before the father chased them back upstairs."

"Any kiss mail?"

"Not this time. It was the middle of the night. If we didn't wake them up, we should have."

"Where are you?" Gibbs asked.

"Back at the Yard. You gonna come talk to him?"

"Not yet."

"The baby okay?"

"So far," Gibbs said. "Some trouble breathing, low APGAR scores. But she's a fighter."

"What do you want me to do?"

Gibbs checked the time. Almost 6:00. The Hamiltons would be here any minute. "There's a truck full of rocks and dirt at Metro. What she was lying on and buried in. Get it to Abby. And get whatever else Metro has." He paused, looking up at McGee.

"I want an immigration hold put on the family's passports. Can you do that?"

"Yes," McGee said without hesitation.

"From here?"

"Yes," McGee said again. Gibbs turned back to the phone.

"That's all for now. Secure Aziz. I'll be down in a while."

"Got it," DiNozzo said. Gibbs was about to hang up when he heard Tony take another breath. He waited. When nothing came after several ticks of the clock, he prompted his second to speak.

"Something else?"

"Okay if we come down there? Ziva wants to check on Amy."

Gibbs knew full well it wasn't Ziva who was asking. But he let it go. "Yeah. After you get the evidence."

"Of course." This time, Gibbs did hang up. McGee had pulled out his smartphone and was tapping away at it. Gibbs figured the chances of Mrs. Aziz taking the kids and trying to leave the country without the father were slim. But it was a base he wanted covered. Just in case. Aziz had had a couple hours to plan after Amy was beaten. He could have started all kinds of balls rolling. And it wasn't like they had to fly home to Afghanistan: A drive north across the border would put them out of reach just as effectively, at least in the short term.

A few minutes passed before the curtains rustled and the same young woman in pink scrubs poked her head through.

"There's a man and a teenager here to see Amaya," she said. Gibbs nodded and stood, tossing his mostly-empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can and grabbing his jacket. He left McGee with Amy and followed the woman back into the hall.

Sgt. Hamilton and Daniel were waiting by the clerk's desk. While the older brother was leaning back against the desk and appeared to be… if not at ease, at least in control… Daniel was clearly stressed. He had his arms folded across his chest and was shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. He saw Gibbs emerge and immediately took several fast steps toward him. Hamilton grabbed Daniel's arm, slowing him down. They had obviously been woken from sleep. Daniel was wearing jeans, an oversize sweatshirt, and sneakers without socks. The elder Hamilton was in fatigues, boots and a Marine green t-shirt.

"What happened?" Daniel demanded loudly. Hamilton shook him slightly. When Daniel looked back at him, Hamilton shook his head and gave him a hard look. Daniel seemed to shrink a little.

"What happened?" Hamilton asked calmly as Gibbs approached. Gibbs gestured them to the side of the hallway out of the flow of traffic.

"A couple hours ago, Amy was found partially buried in a construction project in Northwest DC. She was unconscious, not breathing much. She's got multiple broken bones, organ damage, a fractured skull, possible spinal damage. They're going to take her to surgery shortly."

"How could…" Daniel began, and again Hamilton squeezed his arm hard.

"Do they know what caused her injuries?" Hamilton asked.

"No. The doctor says she was repeatedly struck by something, but we haven't had a chance to figure out what yet."

"Was it rocks?" Daniel said. Hamilton glanced down at him, then back at Gibbs.

"She was buried in rocks, yes," Gibbs said, and had a funny feeling he was about to hear something he didn't want to hear. Daniel's shoulders sank.

"They stoned her," he said with sad certainty.

"What?" both Gibbs and Hamilton said virtually simultaneously.

"She said the penalty for a girl having sex was death by stoning. I told her that would never happen here. I told her…" he paused, taking a deep breath. Tears were threatening. "I need to see her," he said.

"This way," Gibbs said. His mind was reeling. Was it possible? Had the son of a bitch actually stoned her?

He pushed aside the curtain and ushered the others in. Daniel went in first, and his gasp was audible. "Amy!" he cried and stumbled toward the bed. Hamilton followed him, ready to intervene if necessary. Gibbs gestured to McGee to get up.

"We'll be outside," Gibbs said to Hamilton, who nodded without looking away from Amy's still form.

The agents stepped out. Gibbs stopped to lean against the wall for a second. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Here, in the capitol of arguably the most socially and technologically advanced country in the world, medieval justice had been meted out against a little girl. Right under his goddamned nose.

Gibbs pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was going to lose it.

"It had to be more than one," McGee said. Gibbs dropped his hands and looked at his junior agent. Something on his face must have told of his mood, because McGee hurried to continue.

"If she was stoned, there had to be a group. Probably a small group, because a large one would have killed her more quickly. But it couldn't have just been the father."

Gibbs nodded sharply. He pushed off the wall and over to the clerk's desk. Amy's doctor was sitting there, dictating something into a phone. Gibbs waited until he looked up and finished his thought before speaking.

"Could it have been stones, that she was hit with?" he asked the doctor in stiff tones. The young man considered, then nodded.

"Could have been. Would have had to be like garden rocks. About the size of golf balls."

Gibbs nodded.

"If they fell on her, like coming off the back of a dump truck. That would explain her injuries. But why would she have been standing under a fall of rocks?" the doctor asked.

"She was stoned," Gibbs said. Even the words sounded foreign. This wasn't something that happened here. The doctor frowned, not understanding.

"Stoned? Like, the middle ages, stoned?"

"Like Afghanistan," Gibbs said. The doctor's eye's widened.

"My God," he said.

"Exactly," Gibbs said. "Her family's in there now. Can you go talk to them?"

"Yeah," the doctor said. Then: "Stoned? Are you sure?"

Gibbs took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Looks that way."

The doctor shook his head. "Just when I think I've seen it all…"

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed. "Where's the waiting room?"

"There's a quiet room down the hall," he gestured that way. Gibbs nodded and turned to the unit clerk, who had been listening and was wearing a shocked expression. "Add Robert and Daniel Hamilton to the approved visitor's list. If they come out, let them know where we are." She nodded, not speaking. Gibbs turned away and went down the hall, McGee trailing behind him.

The quiet room turned out to be a small waiting room just off the trauma center. Two couches and several chairs lined the walls. A small end table in one corner held a lamp and a coffee maker, a coat rack was in another. Gibbs tossed his jacket over the rack. The ceiling lights were off, the table lamp casting a low light into the room. Gibbs dropped onto one of the couches and McGee sat in a straight chair. He was still working his phone.

Gibbs leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. His thoughts were spinning. During deployment training for the first Gulf War, his squad had been shown a video of a woman being stoned. The woman, wearing a hood, had been buried to her chest in the ground. On signal, dozens of men and boys from her village had begun to throw rocks at her. With each impact, the crowd chanted 'allahu akbar.' God is Great. The attack had gone on for almost half an hour. The instructor had explained that the men used rocks no bigger than a fist, and tried to avoid her head, in order not to kill her too soon. The point of the method of execution was to ensure maximum suffering before death. By the end of the video, many of the Marines watching felt more than a little ill, Gibbs among them. Even then, as an experienced non-commissioned officer and a veteran of the invasion of Panama, he hadn't understood how any civilization could allow such brutality for any reason. Much less for the merely cultural crimes of which so many Muslim women were being found guilty. His understanding had not grown in the interim.

If nothing else, the war in Afghanistan had served to make the Western World aware of the plight of women in many Muslim countries. At first, the fall of the Taliban late in 2001 had seemed to mean freedom for Afghani women. But as time went on, it became clear that not all women would benefit. In the cities, among modern men, yes. But the majority of the country was still living somewhere in the middle ages, then and now. It was there that the Taliban would reemerge after the US and her allies pulled out, they all knew. The best any of them were going to be able to do was continue to pressure the Eastern world for long-term change. Meanwhile, some women would continue to suffer.

Not in Gibbs' most nightmarish imagination could he have conceived of something like this happening here. In America, he'd seen the bad guys use any number of weapons to kill people. He'd never seen anyone use rocks. Of course, in America, fathers didn't kill their children for making mistakes.

Which brought Gibbs back to the moment. McGee was absolutely right: Aziz hadn't done this alone. There had to have been a group. Where would he have found enough men to agree to participate in a murder? Then it came to him.

"Damn it!" Gibbs said aloud and looked up. McGee looked over.

"She called me yesterday. Told me her father wanted her to go to the mosque."

When Gibbs didn't continue, McGee prompted him. "Was that unusual?"

"First time she'd been out of the house all week. It was a set up."

McGee looked blankly at him and Gibbs took a breath, again finding himself fighting to keep it together. "She's been checking in, twice a day, like I told her. She called yesterday in the middle of the day. Said her father was taking her to the mosque and she might not make the evening check in. Gave me a line about her father telling her her faith was stronger now and he wanted her with the family at prayers. It surprised me. I should have…" he paused, looked at McGee. "It was a set up. He took her there to die."

McGee's face showed shock, and then quickly morphed to anger. "The men at the mosque."

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"How can we prove it?" McGee asked. "We can't just start questioning every man who worships there."

"Why not?" Gibbs demanded.

"Boss…" McGee said, struggling with what to say. It's not like Gibbs didn't know the answer.

Gibbs was still waiting for him to speak when Daniel Hamilton suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"You promised she'd be safe!" Daniel shouted, and stormed across the small room towards Gibbs. Before McGee realized what was happening, Daniel launched himself at the senior agent.

* * *

...to be continued...

Many thanks to all who've reviewed. I LOVE to hear from you, and treasure every word. joy


	19. Chapter 19 - The Consequences of Guilt

**Jihad Chapter 17 - The Consequences of Guilt**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Previously...

_Gibbs was still waiting for McGee to speak when Daniel Hamilton suddenly appeared in the doorway._

_"You promised she'd be safe!" Daniel shouted, and stormed across the small room towards Gibbs. Before McGee realized what was happening, Daniel launched himself at the senior agent._

And now, on with the story...

* * *

Gibbs twisted slightly toward the couch cushions and raised his arms but made no other move to protect himself.

"This is your fault! You promised!" Daniel said as he landed on Gibbs, his adrenalin-fueled hundred pounds pushing the larger man down onto the surface of the couch. Gibbs' Sig dug painfully into his back. Daniel took a swing at him, still shouting as his right fist connected solidly with Gibbs' face, the agent's head snapping to the side. Gibbs sensed more than saw McGee jump to his feet.

"Don't!" Gibbs ordered McGee, who pulled up short in confusion. A second hit landed on the other side and Gibbs felt something bite into his brow. Gibbs wrapped his arms around Daniel's back, pulling the boy in toward him. Daniel snapped his head forward, his forehead striking Gibbs' nose. Blood immediately flowed.

"That's enough!" McGee said, and stepped forward to pull Daniel away. Gibbs held onto him for a moment, resisting McGee even as Daniel fought to keep up the attack. When there was enough space between man and boy, McGee grabbed Daniel under the arms and dragged him off his boss.

"You let them hurt her!" Daniel shouted. He struggled against McGee, kicking and screaming. McGee adjusted his grip, pinning the boy's arms, and Daniel's shoe connected hard with McGee's shin. McGee grunted. Daniel squirmed down toward the floor and McGee had no choice but to go with him. He trapped the struggling teen against the carpet and reached for his handcuffs. When he realized he wasn't carrying them, he silently apologized and twisted the boy's arms up. Daniel cried out in pain.

"Stop struggling!" McGee demanded. When Daniel kept it up, McGee moved his arms up an inch. Daniel screamed again, and the elder Hamilton chose that moment to arrive.

"What the hell?" the Marine said. He took in the scene: Gibbs sitting on the edge of the couch, blood running between the fingers he had pressed over his mouth and nose. The younger agent struggling with Daniel on the floor.

"My God, Danny, what have you done?" Hamilton said and waded in. He took two long steps across the room and dropped to his knees beside his brother.

"Danny, stop fighting," he ordered. "He'll break your arms."

"He promised to keep her safe!" Daniel cried, tears streaming down his face. McGee had pulled his arms up high enough that the teen had no choice but to stop moving, but it was clear the fight was not over.

"This isn't the way," Hamilton said. He looked up at McGee. "Let me have him."

"Are you sure?" McGee asked.

"Yeah," Hamilton said. He placed a hand between Daniel's shoulder blades and pushed down. McGee lifted his weight off the teen and Daniel immediately started struggling again.

"Danny, stop it," Hamilton said, pushing harder against his back. "You don't want to do this."

"He promised!" Daniel said.

"I know, Bärchen," Hamilton said. "I know. But this isn't making it better. Agent…" he looked up at his brother's captor.

"McGee," the fed supplied.

"Agent McGee's gonna let you go. You're going to behave. Got it?" Daniel said nothing.

"You got that?" Hamilton said sharply.

"He promised," Daniel said again, his voice full of sorrow.

"I know." Hamilton nodded at McGee, who gave him a questioning look.

"Let him go," Hamilton said. "He'll be alright."

McGee got to his feet, still bent over and holding Daniel's arms up behind him. Hamilton took hold of one of his brother's upper arms and squeezed tight. When the teen didn't resume fighting, McGee released him. Daniel pushed himself upright and swiped at his eyes. He slowly stood, Hamilton still holding his arm as he rose.

"He promised to keep her safe," Daniel repeated, and took a step toward Gibbs. Hamilton jerked him backwards, almost pulling him off his feet. He hugged Daniel's back to his chest, and Daniel didn't fight him.

When McGee saw that Daniel wasn't about to launch a new attack, he turned to Gibbs. The older man was leaning forward, pinching his nose hard with one hand, holding the bottom of his sweatshirt up with the other to catch the blood.

"You okay?" McGee asked, crouching in front of him.

"Peachy," Gibbs said. His voice was high and nasally.

"Is it broken?"

Gibbs gently pushed at the bridge of his nose. It hurt, but didn't move. "No," Gibbs said. He looked up at him out of the top of his eyes. "Probably could use some ice, though."

"I'll get some," McGee said. "You gonna be alright?"

"Go," Gibbs said.

McGee nodded and turned to Hamilton. "I'll be right back. Don't let him go." His tone held an implied threat.

"Understood," Hamilton said. He was still holding Daniel tightly against him. After McGee stepped out, Hamilton stood silently for a minute, watching Gibbs.

"Sorry about this," he said. "He told me he was going to the restroom." The Marine looked down at his brother, who was snuffling and trying to catch his breath. Hamilton squeezed him tighter.

"I'm sure he's sorry, too. Aren't you, Danny?"

"It's his fault," Danny said. He was doing a damn good impression of a pouting child.

"Danny!" Hamilton said sharply.

"It's alright," Gibbs said. He tentatively lessened the pressure on his nose. He felt the blood rush and clamped down again.

Minutes passed before McGee returned with a white rubberized cloth pouch full of ice. He held it out to Gibbs, who dropped the sweatshirt and took it. McGee frowned and Hamilton hissed at the blood covering the bottom of Gibbs' face.

"It's fine," Gibbs said. He pressed the ice pack above the bridge of his nose, maintaining pressure with his other hand.

"How much trouble is he in?" Hamilton asked.

"He assaulted a federal agent," McGee began.

"None," Gibbs interrupted. "There won't be any paper on this."

"You sure, Boss?" McGee asked.

"Is Amy still down here?" Gibbs asked instead of answering.

"They took her to surgery," Hamilton said. "The nurse said it'll be at least four or five hours until we know anything."

Gibbs nodded. "Take Daniel up to the NICU. Meet the baby. Get cleaned up first." Daniel's shirt was marked with Gibbs' blood.

Hamilton looked at McGee, who shrugged. "You better go," McGee said.

"Thank you," the Marine said. Gibbs nodded again. Hamilton forcibly turned Daniel away, and the two of them left. McGee stood, watching Gibbs.

McGee wasn't sure what to make of what he'd just witnessed. It was clear that Gibbs had let himself be attacked. Which made absolutely no sense. It wasn't just that Gibbs had stopped McGee from intervening; though that was weird enough all by itself. But even weirder was that the kid had managed to land a punch at all. McGee had seen his Boss react to an impending threat with a speed and awareness that was eerie sometimes. Yet Daniel had clearly telegraphed his intent, and Gibbs had done nothing to stop the attack. It didn't make any sense.

For his part, Gibbs was too busy trying to get his brain to stop rattling to give any thought to what he'd just let happen and why. He was a bit dizzy, and there was a slight ringing in his ears. Daniel's first punch had landed square on his left temple before glancing off his cheekbone. The second had clipped his right eyebrow hard. He'd pulled the kid toward him, partly to keep Daniel from taking another swing, but mostly just to keep himself from striking back as instinct and muscle memory demanded. He'd barely managed to turn his head enough to avoid getting his nose broken by Daniel's forehead. But clearly not enough to avoid… this.

After five or more silent minutes during which Gibbs pressed the ice to his face and McGee tried not to stare, Gibbs again loosened the pressure on his nose. This time it held. He wiped his hand on his sweatshirt and lowered the ice pack to explore his face. He could feel swelling already coming up around his eyes, left worse than right. At the corner of his right brow, his finger brushed something that stung.

"There's a cut over your eye," McGee informed him. "From the ring he was wearing. It might need stiches."

"Good thing we're in an ER," Gibbs said wryly. He poked gently at his cheekbones. Stable. He could feel blood running down the side of his face from the cut, and his mouth, chin, and neck were sticky. He glanced down at the floor.

"We're gonna need housekeeping in here." He gestured to the sizeable puddle on the carpet.

"I'll tell them. You alright to walk?"

In answer, Gibbs pushed off the couch. He felt a head rush and he stumbled, his vision blacking over for a second. McGee grabbed his arm and Gibbs held on until his balance stabilized. When his vision cleared, he nodded and McGee released him. Gibbs took a tentative step forward, then another. He was a little dizzy, but not bad. He'd obviously lost plenty of blood.

McGee grabbed Gibbs' jacket off the rack and they stepped into the hall, Gibbs dropping the bloody ice pack into a small trash can by the door. He looked around until he saw a restroom a few doors up the hall and headed that way. When he pulled open the door, it revealed a single toilet and sink. Perfect.

Letting the door latch behind him, Gibbs turned on the water in the sink. He regarded his reflection in the mirror. He looked like crap, everything he'd found with his exploring fingers now visible in all its glory. Gibbs shook his head. What the hell had he been thinking, letting the kid hit him? The adrenalin surge had served to tamp his anger for the moment, focused as he'd been on keeping Daniel from getting hurt. But that wasn't exactly a productive way to deal with it, now was it?

Slamming the lid on that line of thought, Gibbs cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed his face. The water ran pink back into the sink. Gibbs did it several more times until the run off was clear, then grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them. Avoiding his nose to keep the bleeding from starting up again, he cleaned the remaining blood off his face and neck. The cut over his right eye was still oozing sluggishly. He examined it closely. He didn't think it was going to need stitches; a couple steri-strips would probably take care of it. The swelling around his left eye was beginning to narrow his vision on that side. It was likely going to close completely before too much longer. He could already see bruises forming. Damn it.

"You are a mess, Jethro," he said softly to himself, then sobered, remembering the damage to Amy's face. This was nothing.

Gibbs pulled his badge from around his neck and examined it. The metal was sticky, the leather backing stained with blood. He scrubbed at it with his fingers. When it was as clean as it was going to get, he folded the case over itself and stuffed the badge in his pocket. Next he peeled his sweatshirt off over his head. One thing about Marine Corps crimson: it hid the blood. He turned the shirt inside out and bundled it up, tucking it under his arm, then pulled out the tails of his t-shirt to cover his Sig. There was some blood soaked into the neckline of his shirt, but the dark color of the material mostly hid it.

Gibbs crumpled up one more paper towel and pressed it against the cut over his eye, then left the restroom. McGee was standing against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. Without comment, Gibbs gestured down the hall. McGee followed as Gibbs headed out of the trauma center and back to the parking lot.

The rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to lighten. It was almost dawn. Gibbs moved slowly over to where he'd parked his truck and unlocked the passenger door. With McGee hovering over his shoulder, Gibbs used his balled-up sweatshirt to dry off the running board before tossing it behind the seats. He reached under the passenger seat. With one hand, he pulled out a flashlight and his first aid kit. He set the kit on the seat and popped the lid, shone the light inside and poked through it until he found what he needed.

"Here," he held two small packets out to McGee. The younger man took them, then looked back up at Gibbs with confusion on his face.

"It's not like I can do it myself, McGee," Gibbs said.

"Uh, don't you think you should have a doctor look at it?"

"No," Gibbs said. He sat on the truck's running board and turned the flashlight up to shine on his face, then lowered the paper towel compress.

With a small sigh that Gibbs chose to ignore, McGee hung his Boss' jacket over the edge of the truck bed. He moved Gibbs' hand so the flashlight was shining in the right place and handed Gibbs back one of the packets.

"Hold this," he said. McGee tore open the packet he still held. It contained iodine ointment on a cotton swab which he slid out, then used to gently dab at the cut. When the whole area was dark orange with the ointment, McGee shoved the swab back into the packet.

"Trade," McGee said. He traded packets with Gibbs. The second one contained steri-strips: thin, reinforced strips of medical adhesive tape designed to close small wounds. They were probably what the ER would have used if they were inside. McGee peeled the backing off one of the strips and again considered the cut.

"Sorry, Boss, I have to…" McGee said. Before Gibbs could ask, McGee leaned in and blew on the area, making Gibbs jerk back a little. "It has to be dry," McGee explained. Gibbs nodded, and McGee blew on it some more. When he was satisfied the ointment had dried enough so the adhesive would stick, he placed one end of the strip just below the cut, then pulled up to fully close the wound before placing the other end. Gibbs grimaced a little at the sting, but stayed silent as McGee placed a second strip. McGee picked up the crumpled paper towel and used it to wipe away the excess iodine. It wasn't pretty, but it would work.

"That'll do it," McGee said. He took the used swab back from Gibbs, who put the flashlight away, then picked up an empty coffee cup and popped the lid off. He held it out for McGee to stuff the trash into.

Behind McGee, Gibbs saw an agency sedan roll into the lot. DiNozzo and David. The Charger paused, then turned their way and parked a few spaces down. Gibbs stood, the dizziness washing over him again. He held the truck door until it cleared then turned to stow the first aid kit. Opening the glove box, he pawed through the accumulated junk there until he found a small dark green zippered pouch. Opening it revealed a collection of plastic medicine bottles, vials, and syringes. A Marine field med kit. Gibbs picked two plastic bottles out before putting the pouch away and slamming the door shut. The other half of his team walked up.

* * *

...to be continued...

Many, MANY thanks to all my faithful reviewers. I truly love hearing from you. joy


	20. Chapter 20 - Complications

**Chapter Twenty - Complications**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Behind McGee, Gibbs saw an agency sedan roll into the lot. DiNozzo and David. The Charger paused, then turned their way and parked a few spaces down. Gibbs stood, the dizziness washing over him again. He held the truck door until it cleared then turned to stow the first aid kit. Opening the glove box, he pawed through the accumulated junk there until he found a small dark green zippered pouch. Opening it revealed a collection of plastic medicine bottles, vials, and syringes. A Marine field med kit. Gibbs picked two plastic bottles out before putting the pouch away and slamming the door shut. The other half of his team walked up._

_And now, on with the story._

* * *

"What happened to you?" DiNozzo asked as he got a look at Gibbs' face.

"I tripped," Gibbs said. DiNozzo frowned. Tripped. Right. He looked at McGee, who gave him a shrug. No doubt they'd talk about it later.

"You get the evidence to Abby's?" Gibbs asked, cutting off any further secret communication between his two agents.

"Yeah. It's in the garage. I called her. She'll be in in an hour."

"How's Aziz?" Gibbs asked. He pulled his jacket back on and stuffed the bottles into one pocket.

"He is annoyed, but putting on a calm front," Ziva said. "He is behaving as if this is all some kind of misunderstanding which will be cleared up shortly."

"He ask for a lawyer yet?" Gibbs asked.

"No," DiNozzo said. "He asked why he was under arrest. I told him we suspected he'd hurt Amy, and he repeated his alibi. Dared us to confirm it with his wife and the kids. Like we don't know he's threatened them with 16 kinds of hell if they don't back him up."

"We'll get to them later," Gibbs said.

"How is Amy?" Ziva asked.

"In surgery," Gibbs said. He paused a second, then: "She was stoned."

"Stoned?" DiNozzo exclaimed, and Ziva whispered something in Hebrew. The agents were clearly as shocked at this news as Gibbs and McGee had been.

"By the men at the mosque," Ziva stated. Gibbs nodded at her. With her background, it was natural she'd get there sooner than the rest of them.

"That's the direction we're going," Gibbs agreed.

"An honor killing is performed by the woman's male relatives and the elders of the mosque, at the direction of the Imam," Ziva said. "Aziz would have been required to be there." She paused. "Probably Yameen as well."

"You think he witnessed it?" McGee asked, horror clear in his voice.

"It is likely he participated," Ziva said.

"Good God," DiNozzo said. "He's just a kid!"

"Under Sharia, he is already a man," Ziva said. "As soon as a boy reaches puberty, he is responsible for the rites of his faith. Including punishing violators of the Law."

The agents fell silent. Gibbs' blood had begun to boil again. The obscenities in this case just kept multiplying.

"How's the baby?" DiNozzo asked a minute later.

"Haven't heard anything new," Gibbs said. He took a breath, swallowing his anger again. "Let's go find out."

The agents were met by Sonia outside the baby's NICU room.

"She's stable," the nurse said after Gibbs introduced them and asked for an update. "No change, better or worse." Her eyes had widened at the condition of his face, but she said nothing about it.

"Is it okay if we look in on her?" DiNozzo asked.

"You can't stay for long," Sonia said. "It's kind of tight in there. There's already two people with her, plus staff."

"We would just like to see her," Ziva said.

"I understand," the nurse said with a smile. "Wash up at the sink." She opened the outer anteroom door and indicated where they could wash. The agents went in and took turns at the sink, moving through into the main room once they were done.

Gibbs was last. He opened one of the bottles he'd brought from the truck and dumped two pills into his hand. On second thought, he added two more. Recapping the bottle, Gibbs tossed the pills back, then cupped water in his hands and drank it.

"How much did you take?" Sonia asked from behind him.

Gibbs looked around. "They're only 200s," he said. Sonia nodded.

"That'll take care of the swelling. You're going to need something for the pain soon."

"Got it covered," Gibbs said. He put the bottle of ibuprofen back in his pocket and washed his hands, finding and removing the last of his own blood from around his fingernails. Sonia said nothing more as she followed him into the room.

Daniel was sitting next to the isolette with his back to them, leaning his forehead on the top of it, one gloved hand through a small porthole in the side near the baby's feet. The porthole had a rubber gasket in it that surrounded Daniel's wrist and kept the heat inside the isolette from escaping. He was rubbing his fingers up and down her leg. She was still breathing hard but Gibbs thought the back and forth of her chest and belly wasn't as bad. Sgt. Hamilton was sitting in a chair on the opposite side, facing them. He nodded at their arrival, but didn't speak.

They all watched the baby for a minute before Sonia put a hand on Gibbs' arm and leaned in to whisper to him. "Special Agent Gibbs, can I speak to you a moment?"

Gibbs nodded and they moved back out to the hall.

"You said he was the baby's father?" she asked, gesturing back to the room.

"That's right," Gibbs agreed. Sonia frowned. "Something wrong?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't think he is," Sonia said, then corrected herself. "No. I know he's not."

Gibbs' eyebrows rose, and he felt the pull of the steri-strips against his skin. "Why do you say that?" he said.

"The baby's white," she said simply.

Gibbs had noticed that, of course. But he also knew that sometimes skin tone didn't develop for weeks or months after birth, so he hadn't given it any thought.

"Won't she darken?" he asked.

"She might. I was told her mother is Middle Eastern, so she might get as dark as that. But that's not what I mean. I've been taking care of neonates for a lot of years. I know what I'm looking for. A baby's race can be determined with a high level of accuracy at birth by looking for certain physical traits. It's how we confirm what race to put on birth certificates. It doesn't always match what the parents claim.

"This baby doesn't have any African American traits. None. She's got some West Asian traits, which would come from her mother, but the vast majority of her physical traits are Caucasian."

"So her father's white? You're sure?"

"Positive. Not only that, but he's either very, very white, like original European white, or the baby's mother is part Caucasian as well."

"You're sure," Gibbs repeated.

"Sorry. That kid is not the father of that baby."

Gibbs put a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed hard. Another complication. Like they needed more of those. "Okay. We'll figure it out. It is okay if he stays with her until we do?"

"Sure," Sonia said. "The baby's not going anywhere, and unless her family shows up and objects, there's no reason we have to do anything about it yet. He obviously has feelings for her."

"The family won't show up," Gibbs said. "She's on her own, except for him."

Sonia nodded again. "Okay. Ordinarily, we put whoever the mother claims is the father on the birth certificate. We figure she ought to know. If another man makes a claim to fatherhood while a baby's still here, we leave it blank and let the courts sort it out. In a case like this where the mother's not married and isn't able to say who the father is, we would require paternity testing before we release the baby. But there's no hurry. Like I said, she's not going anywhere."

"Thank you," Gibbs said, then considered. "Is this just you talking?"

"I'm sorry?" Sonia asked.

"Is anyone else going to give them a hard time?" Gibbs asked, and Sonia smiled.

"No. He's on the paperwork as the presumed father. We'll keep it that way as long as we can."

"Good." The door to the room opened and McGee, DiNozzo and David came out. Sonia took her leave.

"She is very tiny," Ziva spoke first.

"I've never seen a baby that small before," McGee added. He turned to Gibbs. "Is she big enough?"

"What, I should know?" Gibbs asked, frustration clear in his voice. DiNozzo and McGee exchanged concerned glances, which Gibbs caught. He shook his head. It wasn't McGee's fault.

"Daniel says her name is Rebecca," Ziva said, turning the men's attention back to her. "That is what Amy had chosen."

"Good," Gibbs said. "She needs a name."

"So what now?" DiNozzo asked him.

"You know what mosque Aziz goes to?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," DiNozzo said.

"Get over there. Before the morning prayers end. Take pictures of everyone who comes out."

Ziva looked at DiNozzo, who – as usual – took the bull by the horns.

"I don't think that's legal, Gibbs."

Gibbs turned and stared at his second. "Since when?" he demanded.

"We can't target people just because of where they worship," he said, trying to ignore the glare.

"We're taking pictures of people on a public street," Gibbs said through clenched teeth. "Last time I checked, that was perfectly legal."

The two men locked gazes for a moment before DiNozzo backed down. "On it," he said.

"Ziva, go with him," Gibbs said.

"Yes, Gibbs." She hesitated.

"You got something to say too, Agent David?" Gibbs asked with more than a little snarl.

"Only that the morning prayers are not traditionally well attended on a Saturday. We would be more likely to get a larger sampling of those who attend if we wait until evening."

Gibbs nodded and backed off a little. "Go anyway. It'll give us somewhere to start. And find out who the Imam is."

"Understood," she said and turned to go. DiNozzo gave McGee a meaningful glance, and McGee nodded, before Tony followed his partner down the hall.

"Something going on between you two I should know about?" Gibbs asked. The boys were definitely up to something, and it wasn't paranoia that made him think it was probably about him.

"Nothing, Boss," McGee said quickly. Gibbs gave him a look that told the younger man he was busted. McGee started to speak, but Gibbs cut him off.

"Never mind," he said. His junior agent had never learned to lie convincingly. If he had to guess, Gibbs would say it had something to do with why DiNozzo had sent McGee down here in the first place. But it didn't really matter. Not at this point, anyway. There were just too many other things running around in his head to focus on what those two were up to. Unless it started to impact the case.

Gibbs went back into the anteroom and looked through the glass. He waited until he caught Hamilton's attention, and gestured him out. The Marine stood, whispered something to Daniel, and came into the hall.

"Can you stay awhile?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. I'm not on duty today."

"Good. If you hear anything about Amy, or if there's any change with the baby, call me."

"Will do," Hamilton said. Gibbs looked at him for a second, trying to decide whether to ask about the baby's real father or not. Hamilton looked a little uncomfortable, misinterpreting Gibbs' stare.

"I'm really sorry about that," he said, gesturing to Gibbs' face.

"You already apologized," Gibbs said. He decided the baby's – Rebecca's – parentage was an angle they couldn't ignore. They weren't going to get the warrants they needed for the men of the mosque if there was a possibility this had been done by a father-to-be looking to get rid of an inconvenient baby.

"Do you know who the baby's father is?" he asked. Hamilton's eyes flashed, then his shoulders slumped. To his credit, McGee did not react to the unexpected question.

"Are they going to make us leave?"

"Not yet," Gibbs said. "Do you know?"

"I don't. Daniel might. I haven't asked him."

"If you knew Daniel wasn't the baby's father, why'd you let us think he was?" McGee asked.

"I didn't know," Hamilton denied. "They acted like he was, and I just assumed. Just like you guys did."

"He never told you specifically that it wasn't him?" McGee asked.

"No."

"When did you find out?" Gibbs asked.

"When we went in the room. There's no way the baby's black."

Gibbs nodded. Of course he would have noticed. "We're going to need to know. We need to rule out the possibility that the baby's father wanted to get rid of her."

"You really think someone else did this?" Hamilton asked incredulously.

"No," Gibbs stated firmly. "But loose ends can kill a case."

Hamilton nodded. "Okay. But…" he hesitated. "Is there someone else who can do it? I don't think it's a good idea for you to talk to him right now."

To that, Gibbs actually smiled. "Not sure I could take him a second time tonight anyway," he said.

"I appreciate you not charging him, Agent Gibbs," Hamilton said. "And I really appreciate you not hurting him. I know you could have, easily. He's been through a lot, and he's still carrying around a lot of anger."

"I know," Gibbs said. He certainly understood the consequences of unreleased anger. "We don't need to deal with it right now. I'll send someone back to talk to him in a couple hours, after Amy's out of surgery. If you can get something out of him before then, it might go easier."

"How long do we have before they try to kick us out?" Hamilton asked. Gibbs noted the word 'try' and silently approved. If the baby ended up needing a family, Gibbs figured this Marine and his brother would be a good choice.

"The nurse says there's no hurry, as long as the family doesn't object."

"That's not going to happen," Hamilton said.

"Probably not," Gibbs agreed. "Call me if anything changes."

**20-20-20-20-20**

Gibbs had McGee drive to the construction site where Amy had been found. His left eye was half shut now and he still felt a little dizzy. He could have driven if he had to, but he was glad he didn't.

The site was four blocks from the mosque. A large wooden sign announced it was going to be the new head office of a corporate law firm. Like they needed more of those in Washington, Gibbs thought. It was a five-story office building, the steel fully framed and the first three floors glassed in. There was an eight-foot chain link fence surrounding the property. Most of the links were threaded with brown plastic strips to obscure the view. A small white pick-up truck with 'security' stenciled on the driver's door and tailgate was sitting next to the vehicle entrance, its parking lights on and its engine running.

McGee pulled his Porsche in behind the truck and the agents got out. Gibbs leaned against the open door for a second, waiting out a head rush. When it passed, they approached the pick-up. The driver's door opened and a uniformed security guard stepped out.

"Help you?" the man asked. He was younger than both of them, relatively fit, maybe 5'10 and 150. His blond hair was cut in a severe brush cut, his face clean shaven.

"NCIS," McGee said, showing his badge. The guard turned toward Gibbs and looked him up and down.

"You alright? You don't look so good," he said. Gibbs said nothing.

"We're investigating an incident that took place here overnight. Were you here?" McGee said, pulling the guard's attention back to him.

"Nope. Took over at 6:00," he said. "It was Chuck who found her."

"We need to take a look at the scene," McGee said.

"Sure. Hell of a thing," he said. He reached in and shut off his truck, swinging the door shut. "Never had nothing like that happen before."

The agents followed him past the large vehicle gate to a smaller man gate beside it and started fumbling with a large set of keys.

"The place is locked up whenever they're not working on site. Been a lot of construction theft in this neighborhood. That's why they've got security on it. Nights and weekends." He unlocked the gate's padlock.

"How often do you come by?" McGee asked.

"Twelve times in twelve hours," he said.

"So… once an hour?" McGee asked with a slight 'duh' in his voice.

"No," the guy said in a matching tone. "We run random cycles so there's no pattern to time. One guard oversees four properties in the area, visits each one twelve times a shift. So it can be as little as 15 minutes between rounds, up to an hour and 15." They stepped through the gate onto the site.

It wasn't hard to see where the crime had occurred. A large circle of yellow police tape held up with construction pylons was about 20 feet from the gate. The three men walked over to it. The pylons circled a hole about four feet long and three feet wide and maybe two feet deep at its deepest point. The ground around the hole was packed dirt, muddy now. Tire treads and footprints tracked over and through one another in useless patterns.

"Don't know why they'd dump the poor girl here. Seems like there'd be a lot better places to hide a body," the guard said.

"Not a body," Gibbs spoke for the first time. "She's not dead."

"Oh, that's good," the guard said. "Chuck said she was dead."

"She's not," Gibbs said. He walked away a few yards, scanning the site. Stacks of construction materials here and there, cranes and forklifts, a front-end loader parked to one side.

"How'd they get in here?" McGee asked. He kept peripheral track of Gibbs as he continued the interview.

"They cut through the fence, on the back of the site, from the office parking lot next door."

"McGee," Gibbs called, and the agent and the guard moved over to where he was standing, looking around the corner of the unfinished building. When McGee came abreast of him, he looked where Gibbs was looking and nodded. A large pile of gray and white rocks, a little smaller than golf balls.

"What're those for?" McGee asked the guard. He shrugged.

"They're putting them on the walls, inside. For decoration."

Gibbs moved closer. The pile was a little taller than he was, in the pyramid shape they'd fallen when they'd been delivered. There was a bite out of one side, maybe three cubic feet missing. Several battered and dirty five-gallon buckets were stacked next to the pile.

"Those buckets belong here?" Gibbs asked.

"Yup. They're what the crew uses to carry the rocks inside."

"And probably what they used to move them across the site," Gibbs said to McGee. "Bring them."

"We're going to take them with us," McGee told the guard.

"Are you allowed to do that?" the guard asked cautiously. "I don't wanna get in trouble."

"They're evidence," McGee said. "We'll leave you a receipt."

"I don't think that's necessary. They can't be worth much. As long as you're allowed." He paused. "Why do you suppose they buried her like that? It's not like she wouldn't have been discovered eventually. Pretty dumb if you ask me."

"You seem to know an awful lot about it," Gibbs said with a small growl. "Something we should know?"

The guard put both hands up front of himself, palms out, and took a few steps back. "No, no, no. I just watch a lot of cop shows on TV, you know? That's all. Honest."

Gibbs nodded like he didn't really believe him. What he really wanted to do was tell the guy to keep his opinions to himself. "Show us where they got in."

The guard walked them across the site to the back fence. "They cut the fence, here, and walked right on through," he said.

A piece of the chain link had been cut top to bottom, and the sections re-secured with bailing wire. The ground here was paved. Likely leftover from the building that had originally been here. No help there either. Gibbs looked closely at the edges of the fence sections. Nothing caught on them. Maybe there had been, and Metro had collected it. He could always hope.

"I've seen enough," Gibbs told McGee. "Get the buckets. Let's go." He strode back to the car. McGee pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. The guard watched as McGee carefully picked up the stack of plastic buckets and, holding them away from his body, walked back to the car with them. He set them down, took off one glove, popped his trunk, then dug in his pack one-handed until he came up with a large plastic bag. He snapped it open and put it over and around the stack before carefully setting it sideways in the Porsche's small trunk. They barely fit. McGee closed the lid and got in the car.

"Where to, Boss?" McGee asked as he started the engine.

"Navy Yard," Gibbs said. He was piecing together how it had gone down: They brought her here, probably parked in the office lot next door, cut through the fence, picked a spot, tied her up so she couldn't fight, dug a hole. Which means they'd had to have brought shovels. Or more likely picks, to get through the hard-packed dirt. They'd probably made her sit in the hole then buried her to the waist or higher before…

"Gibbs?" McGee said, and Gibbs realized it wasn't the first time McGee had spoken. He turned and raised his eyebrows, inviting the junior agent to repeat himself.

"You want to stop for coffee?" McGee asked. Gibbs considered. Not whether or not to get coffee – he was always up for that – but whether he wanted more.

"Breakfast," Gibbs said. McGee nodded and took a right. There was a diner not far from the Yard where they sometimes grabbed a quick meal and McGee drove there.

Gibbs wasn't ordinarily a breakfast person. A cup of coffee and something from the bread family usually did it for him. However, he knew the day ahead was going to be long and blood loss always led to energy loss. Not to mention that his lack of sleep the night before meant he was starting from a deficit. It was time to refuel.

The diner was busy, surprisingly so for sunup on a Saturday. The agents took seats at the counter and within a minute the waitress arrived to fill their coffee mugs. They both ordered the blueplate special: eggs, sausage, hashbrowns and toast. Gibbs added a large glass of orange juice, which he drained in one go before asking for a refill. Long experience had taught him it was the best cure for blood loss out there. Other than a transfusion.

He drank a second glass of juice, then most of a cup of coffee before their breakfasts arrived. Gibbs started strong, but within a few bites he felt his stomach object. He was again trying to keep his mind loose and his anger suppressed. It wasn't as easy this time: The pain in his face was starting to intrude, and with it came the reminder of why he was hurting. And how badly Amy must have been hurting. And how she'd probably begged them to stop as they forced her to sit in the hole and buried her as the rain fell. How she'd probably prayed for someone to come save her. Probably prayed for him to come save her, judging by the card she'd held clenched in her fist.

Gibbs tossed his fork onto his plate. It clattered loudly against the heavy china. McGee looked at him with concern and the waitress slid over.

"What, not liking the eggs?" she asked cheekily.

Gibbs glared at her, a ball of rage pushing at his brain. He started to speak, then shoved himself upright with a not-so-muted curse. The waitress took a step back and a startled sound escaped.

"Gibbs," McGee said softly. The senior agent whipped his head toward him. McGee felt a little weak in the knees at the fury he saw on his boss's face. They locked gazes for a second before Gibbs turned and stalked away, the swivel chair rocking against its stops.

McGee quickly took a $20 bill out of his wallet and dropped it on the counter. "Sorry about that," he told the shell-shocked waitress, and took off after Gibbs. The time had apparently come.

* * *

...to be continued...

Thank you to all who are taking the time to review. Hearing from you makes me feel loved. joy


	21. Chapter 21 - Rage

**Chapter Twenty-one - Rage**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Gibbs tossed his fork onto his plate. It clattered loudly against the heavy china. McGee looked at him with concern and the waitress slid over._

_"What, not liking the eggs?" she asked cheekily._

_Gibbs glared at her, a ball of rage pushing at his brain. He started to speak, then shoved himself upright with a not-so-muted curse. The waitress took a step back and a startled sound escaped._

_"Gibbs," McGee said softly. The senior agent whipped his head toward him. McGee felt a little weak in the knees at the fury he saw on his boss's face. They locked gazes for a second before Gibbs turned and stalked away, the swivel chair rocking against its stops._

_McGee quickly took a $20 bill out of his wallet and dropped it on the counter. "Sorry about that," he told the shell-shocked waitress, and took off after Gibbs. The time had apparently come._

_And now, on with the story..._

* * *

Outside the diner, Gibbs was leaning against the passenger side of the car, his elbows on the roof, his fingers laced behind his head. McGee hit the auto locks and Gibbs jerked the door open, throwing himself into the passenger seat. When the junior agent got in, Gibbs was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his cheekbones. His breath was coming in rapid, deep gasps, like he'd just finished a long run.

"Are you alright?" McGee asked.

"Drive!" Gibbs commanded. McGee gave him a second to fasten his seatbelt, and when he didn't, started the engine anyway. He drove to the Navy Yard in silence, alert for any change in Gibbs.

McGee parked in the underground staff lot. Gibbs threw open the door almost before he had it in park.

"Gibbs, wait," McGee said. He scrambled to get out of the small car and follow his rapidly retreating boss. "Wait!" he called again when Gibbs showed no sign of slowing down. McGee could only guess what was going to happen if he let Gibbs anywhere near Aziz in the condition he was in. He had to stop him.

McGee put on an extra burst of speed as Gibbs paused in the vestibule to buzz himself into the building. He grabbed Gibbs' arm, pulling him away from the door. Gibbs came around swinging, and McGee ducked, Gibbs' wild punch sailing over his head. McGee shoved Gibbs back a step toward the door and Gibbs reacted, ducking his head and hitting McGee's chest with his shoulder like a linebacker off the line of scrimmage. McGee 'oofed' backwards and twisted on his feet, Gibbs following through in his blind rage. Gibbs pushed one forearm against McGee's throat, the other fist grabbing his jacket and twisting it hard. McGee clutched Gibbs' forearm in both hands and stepped back until he hit the wall perpendicular to the door and could go no further.

"Gibbs?" McGee squeaked. The pressure against his throat wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't dangerous – yet. Still, McGee was well aware of the capabilities of the man at whose mercy he was held. He knew he could keep fighting, and in Gibbs' out-of-control state, might even come out on top. But McGee thought they might get where they needed to be faster if he just let it happen. He waited a second, holding Gibbs' forearm and watching his face. The senior agent's left eye was more shut than open, dark bruising forming around it. The cut over his right eye was swollen under the steri-strips, the eye itself bloodshot. The combination gave him a look that would frighten small children. Still, it wasn't his physical appearance that bothered McGee. It was the expression in Gibbs' eyes and on his face. Rage and something McGee had never seen there before: shame.

"Gibbs," McGee said again. "It's not your fault."

Gibbs pushed harder, momentarily blocking McGee's airflow before letting up a little. "You think I don't know that?" Gibbs growled. He was still breathing hard. He pushed again and McGee's grip tightened until Gibbs backed off and let him breathe. McGee swallowed hard, his Adam's apple dragging against the pressure. He tried not to think about how little it would take for Gibbs to crush his windpipe.

"You might know it, but you don't believe it," McGee dared to say. Gibbs said nothing, just stood there panting, his muscled forearm digging into McGee's throat. The younger man continued.

"She was going to church," he said. "There was no reason for you to think she'd be in any danger there."

Gibbs stayed silent. He held McGee against the door, waiting for… something.

"You had no choice but to send her home. There wasn't enough evidence to keep her away. The social worker, the lawyer, everyone agreed she had to go back. And she wanted to go back."

"I should have kept her anyway," Gibbs said harshly.

"You couldn't have. They'd have arrested you for kidnapping and sent her home regardless. Her father already had a lawyer."

The next statement was so quiet, McGee almost didn't catch it. "I believed him, that he wouldn't hurt her."

And that was the crux of this, wasn't it, McGee thought. Not only was Gibbs feeling guilt over what had happened to Amy, but he thought he'd missed something that might have prevented it. McGee stared at him for a moment before realization dawned.

"Maybe he was telling the truth," McGee said.

Gibbs' arm tightened against McGee's throat again and he got right in his face. "He tried to kill her!" Gibbs shouted from inches away. McGee shook his head quickly. He choked a little, trying to clear the pressure from his airway. Gibbs let him speak.

"But when he told you he wouldn't hurt her, he might not have been lying," McGee said, his voice high and tight. "Maybe it wasn't him, that did it. Maybe it was the elders, the Imam. They found out she was pregnant and did it themselves. They made Aziz participate. It wouldn't have been his choice. Which would mean you got through to him. He wasn't lying when he made his promise."

Gibbs seemed to consider that. He backed off a little and McGee took a hard breath. "If he had no choice, it means he wasn't lying. You didn't miss anything," McGee repeated.

Gibbs dropped the arm he held against McGee's throat but didn't let go of his jacket. McGee coughed, a hard sound.

"How'd they find out?" Gibbs asked. "Aziz had to have told them."

"Not necessarily, at least, not for that reason. Aziz would have told the Imam she was missing, to pray for her return. When she came back, he'd have been asked where she'd been and why. In their culture, the Imam is… close to supreme. Aziz would have had to tell him all of it. The elders probably decided on their own that she needed to die."

Gibbs gave that a minute. "The invitation to the mosque. It was a set up, but not necessarily by Aziz."

"Yes," McGee said. Gibbs nodded. He took a step back and let McGee go. The junior agent straightened, cleared his throat. Gibbs turned toward the iris scanner at the door and showed it his right eye. The scanner's blue light flashed, then turned red. Gibbs closed his eye, rolled it around in the socket, then opened it wider and tried again. Blue, then red. The damage to his eye must be affecting the scanner.

"I got it," McGee said. He turned and scanned his own eye, the door buzzing open a second later.

The two agents rode up to the squadroom in silence. Gibbs' breathing was slowing, the wild look on his face fading. McGee wondered if the crisis was over.

The lights in the squadroom were off this early on a Saturday morning. The morning light was coming through the skylights and the windows overlooking the Anacostia River, partially illuminating the empty space. Gibbs went around his desk and flopped into his chair. McGee went to his own desk and sat, then surreptitiously rubbed at his throat. It was raw where the rough fabric of Gibbs' jacket had rubbed against his skin.

"You alright?" Gibbs asked. McGee dropped his hand. Not surreptitious enough, obviously.

"Fine. You?"

"I'll live," Gibbs said. He ran his hands over his hair, scratching at his scalp. He really needed a shower. And a change of clothes. And more coffee. Two out of three he could get here. But neither the mess nor his regular coffee dealer were open on the weekends. Which meant driving down the block or walking across the Navy Yard, neither of which he was up to.

"I gotta get cleaned up. You wanna make a coffee run?" Gibbs asked.

"Somebody need coffee?" DiNozzo's voice came and Gibbs turned toward the back of the squadroom. His second was striding their way with a tray of coffees and a pink bakery box.

"We struck out at the mosque, Boss," DiNozzo said as he dealt cups out to Gibbs and McGee. "Almost no one there. Five or six men came out, one at a time, like maybe they were just slow leaving. Ziva says the men will start filtering in over the next couple hours for noon prayers. She's still there. We got the Imam's name. I'll run him down."

Setting his own cup on his desk, DiNozzo opened the bakery box and held it out for Gibbs. "Breakfast?" Gibbs glanced in, then shook his head. He wasn't in the mood. DiNozzo moved to McGee, who likewise demurred. Retreating to his own desk with a half shrug, DiNozzo flipped on his computer so they could look at the photos he did get. The machine was still cycling up when the elevator dinged.

"What the hell happened?" Fornell demanded as he strode into the squadroom. Despite the hour and the day, the FBI agent was dressed for work: dark suit under trench coat. His only concession to the weekend was a lack of tie.

"How'd you get in here, Fornell?" DiNozzo asked. Fornell ignored him and fixed his eyes on Gibbs. His eyes widened.

"What happened to you?" Fornell said.

"I tripped," Gibbs said. "How _did_ you get in here?" Gibbs noticed Fornell wasn't wearing a visitor's pass. Which wasn't surprising, since there was no visitor check-in on the weekend.

Fornell stopped in front of Gibbs' desk and reached a hand toward Gibbs' face. Gibbs grabbed his wrist.

"Don't," he said sharply.

"Tripped, huh?" Fornell said, and shook his head. He glanced back at DiNozzo. "Aren't you supposed to have his back?"

DiNozzo was about to reply when Gibbs cut him off.

"He does," Gibbs growled. "What do you want?"

"Metro contacted us about an unidentified person fingerprint hit overnight, on Amy. Our missing alert was never cancelled. Did he kill her?"

"He tried," Gibbs said. "She's in surgery."

"How bad?"

"Bad," Gibbs said. "They stoned her."

Fornell inhaled sharply and took a half step backwards.

"That son of a bitch," he swore loudly, and kicked Gibbs' desk.

"Hey!" DiNozzo objected from behind him.

"You bring him in?" Fornell asked, ignoring the younger man.

"He's here. But he didn't do it alone."

"Who else?"

"We're looking at men from the mosque," DiNozzo said. Fornell turned to him.

"Is that where it happened?" he asked.

"At a construction site about four blocks away," McGee said.

"Aziz say anything yet?" Fornell turned back to Gibbs.

"Told DiNozzo he was with his wife and the little kids all night. Says the family will back him up."

"Of course they will," Fornell said dismissively. "You talk to him yet?"

"Nope. DiNozzo's gonna break his alibi in a few minutes," Gibbs said. Across the aisle, DiNozzo's face showed surprise.

"I am?" DiNozzo asked. "I mean, I'm sure I can break him, but I thought you'd want to…" he trailed off. "Yes, I am," he said firmly.

"I want in on it," Fornell said.

"Up to him," Gibbs said, gesturing to DiNozzo.

"It is?" DiNozzo said. Gibbs looked at him. "Of course it is," DiNozzo said quickly. "My interrogation, my choice." He paused. "You gonna be there, Boss?"

"I'll watch," Gibbs said.

DiNozzo nodded. "You can play, Fornell. But it's my lead."

Fornell glanced at Gibbs, who gave a small nod.

"Fair enough," he said.

"I gotta get cleaned up first," Gibbs said. "Go get some coffee, Fornell. We'll be ready in 20 or so." He picked up his own cup and stood carefully. Still a little headrush, but better. Orange juice. Worked every time. He stepped over to DiNozzo's desk and picked out a donut, then carried it to McGee.

"You didn't finish your breakfast," he said, and handed it over. McGee took it with only a small look of surprise. "Metro should have sent you an email with photos of the scene and Amy's injuries."

"I'll look," McGee said.

Gibbs watched as Fornell headed down the front stairs. Leaving his agents behind, Gibbs went into the back hall, headed for the elevator and the locker room. He passed the closed door to interrogation, then paused and turned back to enter observation. There was a recording tech sitting in the dark, watching something on an iPad. He glanced up when the door opened.

"Agent Gibbs," he said, then did a double take. "Rough night?"

"Some are rougher than others, Charlie," Gibbs said. Techs tended to come and go at the agency: the pay wasn't great and the work wasn't anything to write home about. They were rarely around long enough to bother learning names, much less trying to develop a working relationship. But this one had been here a couple years.

Gibbs looked through the one-way glass into the interrogation room. Aziz was sitting at the table with his hands clasped in front of him. He looked like he was staring straight at them, but Gibbs knew he was actually only seeing his own reflection.

"Everything alright?" Gibbs asked.

"Five by five," Charlie said. "He's just been sitting there."

Gibbs watched him for a few moments. He didn't appear to be nervous, or upset, or even particularly bored. As Charlie'd said, he was just sitting there. Like he hadn't just participated in the attempted murder of his 16-year-old daughter. Gibbs clenched his fists and willed himself calm. He'd bled off some of the rage arguing with McGee, but it was still present. A living thing, just under the surface, struggling to burst free.

"Are you going to work him soon?" Charlie asked.

Gibbs forced himself to look away from the window. "Agent DiNozzo will be along shortly," he said.

"I'll be here," Charlie said. As Gibbs turned to go, Charlie spoke again.

"Did he really kill his daughter?" he asked.

"He tried," Gibbs said.

"Why?" Charlie asked. Gibbs drew a breath.

"Because he's a son of a bitch," he said. "Be back."

**21-21-21-21-21**

After Gibbs left, DiNozzo finished downloading the photos of men from the mosque, and set up the photo comparison. He figured the most likely candidates would be those who grew up in the Middle East, so he started with immigration records. Meanwhile, McGee checked his email. He found the photos from Metro PD and started printing them.

Ten minutes later, DiNozzo was just finishing his second donut when his desk phone rang. Surprised that someone would be calling him at the office so early on a Saturday, he glanced at the caller ID. It was an internal line. The security watch office.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, this is Hansen in the watch office. Can you come down here a minute? Alone? There's something I think you should see."

DiNozzo was about to ask, but something in the officer's tone made him agree without question. He hung up and stood.

"The imam," he said to McGee, holding out a piece of notebook paper. "See what you can find out. I'll be right back." McGee took the paper and went back to his computer.

DiNozzo rode the elevator down to the first basement. He was more than a little tired. Like Gibbs, he'd only gotten a few hours' sleep last night, and he wasn't as young as he used to be. In college, he'd gone weeks at a time without a full night's sleep and been none the worse for wear. But he was long past being able to do that now. If he didn't get at least six hours, he paid for it.

DiNozzo rounded the corner and stepped into the security watch office. It was a small, darkened room with a single desk that faced a wall of monitors. Each screen showed a current view from one security camera somewhere in or around the building. The guards took turns watching the screens, and the desk was never unmanned. The watch position had been created shortly after a terrorist had staged a hostage-taking in autopsy almost ten years before. At first, DiNozzo had been kind of creeped out, knowing that everything they did was being watched. But he'd gotten used it eventually, and rarely even thought about it anymore.

"What's up, Hansen?" DiNozzo asked the officer sitting behind the desk.

"Look at this," he said. Hansen pointed to the monitor on the bottom right corner of the grid. It was showing snow.

"This is from the employee entrance in the garage about half an hour ago," he said. He tapped a few keys on the computer that controlled the feeds and a view of the doorway appeared. The camera was mounted above and facing the door a few meters from it, designed to capture people exiting the building. DiNozzo knew there was another camera further away from the door and looking in the opposite direction to see people coming up the walkway, and a third above the door looking almost straight down. For a minute, it was just the door and the time clock in the lower right corner ticking forward.

"This movie's got kind of a slow start," DiNozzo said.

"It gets better," Hansen said. As he finished speaking, someone strode into the frame. Despite the bad angle, DiNozzo would recognize that sore-knees walk anywhere. Gibbs. A second later, another man entered the frame. McGee.

"Whoa!" DiNozzo said as he watched Gibbs' violent reaction to McGee grabbing his arm. DiNozzo leaned in closer as the fight progressed. The angle showed the two agents in profile and he could see they were talking, McGee more than Gibbs of course, but the video had no sound. On the parts of their faces he could see, it was clear Gibbs was more than pissed, and McGee was something just slightly less than terrified, but with a healthy dose of spine underlying.

When Gibbs finally released McGee and they went inside, Hansen turned to DiNozzo.

"I thought someone should know," Hansen said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Erase it," DiNozzo said firmly.

"What?" Hansen said, clearly surprised.

"I said erase it. Now."

"I can't," Hansen said. "The footage has to be archived for sixty days, in case there's an issue. Director's orders. What if Special Agent McGee files a complaint?"

DiNozzo looked at him like he was insane. "You really think McGee's gonna file an HR complaint against Gibbs? What parallel universe do you live in? Erase it."

The security officer still looked uncertain.

"These recordings are official records. I can't just erase it. I'd lose my job if anyone found out. Besides, it's bad enough that Special Agent Gibbs goes around smacking you guys all the time. He can't beat up one of his agents and get away with it. The director needs to know. Special Agent McGee deserves that much."

"Aw hell," DiNozzo said. He reached past Hansen to a desk phone and dialed McGee's extension. When it was picked up, DiNozzo didn't bother with prelude.

"McGee: Your little dance with Gibbs this morning was recorded on the security cameras. Security Officer Hansen wants to show the footage to the director. Talk to him." He thrust the handset at the officer, who took it somewhat reluctantly.

"Special Agent…" he stopped, clearly cut off by McGee, whose voice was loud enough that his demanding tone came through the small speaker.

"But I…" Again, he was cut off.

"If you're sure," another pause.

"Okay." He hung up and turned in his chair.

"He says I should erase it."

"So do it," DiNozzo said. "All views." Hansen was still hesitant. DiNozzo pushed him a little harder.

"If anyone asks, I held a gun to your head and forced you. Erase it. Now."

Hansen shook his head, and hit a few keys. When an 'are you sure?' dialogue box popped up, his hand hovered over the keyboard. DiNozzo reached over his shoulder and stabbed the enter key. There was a short progress bar, then a delete confirmation appeared.

"Thank you," DiNozzo said. "You and I are the only ones who know about this. If it gets on the rumor mill, I'm gonna know it was you, and I'm going to make your life very difficult. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Hansen said with a grimace.

"Good." DiNozzo turned away. Now, to find out what the hell that was about…

* * *

...to be continued...

I continue to be thrilled by every comment received. Why don't you make a writer's day and drop me a line or three? joy


	22. Chapter 22 - Denials and Lies

**Chapter Twenty-two - Denials and Lies**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs stood in the shower facing the water, leaning forward with his hands against the wall over his head. He was long since clean. The water was hitting the back of his head and neck and flowing down his back. For a government building, NCIS had surprisingly good water pressure. More than once, Gibbs had used the locker room showers to trick his body into thinking he was ready for a new day. He didn't know how successful it would be this time, but it was worth a shot.

Tipping his head back, Gibbs let the water hit his face and grunted in pain as it did. The kid had really done a number on him. He opened his mouth to let the water run in and rinsed, then dropped his head again.

There was nothing good likely to come out of this day. If Amy survived at all, it would take months for her to recover, if she ever did. Her eventual outcome certainly wouldn't be known today, unless it was bad. Same for the baby, really. For Rebecca. If Gibbs recalled correctly, it could be weeks, months or even years before they would know the full effect being born too early would have on her.

Gibbs wondered why Amy had chosen a Hebrew name for her child. To annoy her father? Maybe. But not likely. At least not solely. Amy was a teenager, but unlike most, she didn't seem to be rebellious in the 'just trying to make a point' way of many American teens. So there was probably a valid reason. Maybe she just liked the name and damn the origin. But that, too, wasn't likely. Nothing was that simple when centuries-old religion was involved.

His thoughts turned to the drugs they'd found in Rebecca's system. The only explanation was that someone had drugged Amy before they stoned her. To sedate her? Make her more compliant? Or to decrease the pain that was coming? Considering what they were about to do, why would any of the men involved have bothered trying to make it easier on her? So who had done it? Could it have been Amy herself? Her mother?

With a silent sigh, Gibbs turned off the water and stepped out. He grabbed his towel off the rack next to the shower and quickly dried his body, rubbed the towel over his hair, then wrapped it around his hips. He didn't feel any better, but at least he was clean.

Gibbs opened his locker and took out his shaving kit. He moved over to the sinks and used an electric shaver to scrape the stubble away, then went to work on his teeth.

The locker room door opened and Gibbs glanced in the mirror. Fornell, with a cup of coffee in each hand.

"Brought an extra," Fornell said as he approached. Gibbs tossed his head toward the countertop beside him, and Fornell set the cup there. Behind him, he heard a distant ringing. His cell phone, in the pocket of his pants, across the room.

"Want me to get it?" Fornell asked.

"See who it is," Gibbs mumbled around a mouth full of toothpaste bubbles. Fornell strode across the locker room and quickly found the cell.

"GW," Fornell said, and Gibbs nodded at him to take it.

A short conversation later, Fornell hung up just as Gibbs finished rinsing his mouth.

"Someone called asking about the baby," Fornell said.

"Her name is Rebecca. Who called?" Gibbs asked. He tossed his toothbrush back into his kit and turned to look at Fornell, leaning against the counter.

"Unidentified female. When the charge nurse told the caller they couldn't release any information, the caller declined to identify herself and hung up. Nurse estimates middle aged adult, accent she couldn't identify."

"Amy's mother?" Gibbs asked.

Fornell shrugged. "Good a guess as any," he said. "If it was her, how'd she know what hospital to call?"

"Good question," Gibbs said. He returned to his locker and pulled out clean underwear, bending to pull them on. His vision grayed a little, and he quickly straightened, grabbing the edge of his locker to steady himself. Fornell saw it.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Couple pints low," Gibbs replied. He finished pulling up the boxer briefs, slung his damp towel over a hook on the locker door, and picked out the rest of his emergency change of clothes. He sat on a bench to dress.

"So who got you?" Fornell asked, coming over to sit on the other end of the bench. "I know it wasn't Aziz. He'd be on one of Ducky's tables."

"It was Daniel Hamilton," Gibbs said.

Fornell's double-take was classic. "A 17-year-old flyweight did that?" He gestured at Gibbs' face, then understanding dawned. "You let him," he said.

"Uh huh," Gibbs agreed. He pulled his jeans on without bending over and shifted his hips side to side to shimmy them up as far as they'd go.

"Why?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs shrugged and picked up his undershirt. "He needed it." He pulled it on. When his head reappeared, he glanced over to see Fornell staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"You self-serving son of a bitch," Fornell said with an indulgent smile and a slow shake of his head. "You let that kid beat you because you needed it."

Gibbs looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Probably." It was as far as he was willing to go. He pulled on a dark-blue, long-sleeved Henley with the unit crest of a long-dead navy friend on the breast, shrugging it into place. It wasn't his usual work wear, but it was comfortable.

"So how bad is she?" Fornell asked, artfully changing the subject.

"Trauma doc doesn't expect her to survive," Gibbs said. "The surgery's to stabilize multiple fractures and fix organ damage. They took her in…" Gibbs glanced at his watch. "Almost two hours ago."

"And the baby? Rebecca?"

"Holding her own. Daniel and Sgt. Hamilton are with her." He raised each foot to put his socks and boots on. When both feet were back on the floor, he stood carefully and fastened his jeans.

"Someone dosed Amy with an opioid, before they stoned her," Gibbs said. "Rebecca had enough of it in her system she had trouble breathing after birth."

"Opioids?" Fornell asked, as surprised as Gibbs had been. "Why?"

"Anyone's guess," Gibbs said.

"You think it was compassion or convenience?"

"Depends on who did it," Gibbs said. He tossed his dirty clothes in the bottom of his locker and returned to the sink.

"Might be worth knowing," Fornell said. Then after a moment, "what's your next move?"

"Break Aziz, use him to find out who was involved, arrest every man who threw a rock and make sure they spend a long time in a deep hole."

"Why are you letting DiNozzo take the interrogation?" Fornell asked. Gibbs examined himself in the mirror through his narrowed field of vision.

"He'll get it done," Gibbs said. The swelling around his left eye seemed to have stopped, leaving the eye open enough to let in light, but not much more. His brow over his right eye was also thickened, as was the bridge of his nose. He looked like he'd gone a couple rounds with Tyson. At least the steri-strips McGee had applied were holding up.

"You'd get it done faster," Fornell said from behind him.

"Probably not," Gibbs said. He gave up on the self-exam and pulled a comb out of his shaving kit. "If I do it my way, we'd have to allow time for Ducky to patch him up, time to do the paperwork, time for the use of force review by the Director's office…"

Fornell caught his eye in the mirror and saw Gibbs wasn't kidding. "You need to get a handle on that," he said. "Killing him won't help."

"It'd sure make me feel better," Gibbs said. He ran the comb through his hair, straightening it. "But you're right. Which is why DiNozzo will handle the interrogation." Gibbs turned to look at him straight on, pointing the comb at him. "And you're going to let him handle it."

"Of course I am," Fornell said, giving Gibbs his best innocent look.

"I'm serious, Tobias. He knows what he's doing."

"I'm sure he does," Fornell said. "I'm just observing, remember? My director's not going to be happy when he finds out what happened. If DiNozzo breaks him, maybe we can wrap this up and have them all in custody before the office opens on Monday."

"Sounds like a plan," Gibbs said. He picked up the coffee Fornell had brought and returned one more time to his locker, stashing his kit and swinging the door shut. There wasn't a lock on it. Gibbs had always figured that if it ever got to the point where he couldn't trust his fellow federal agents not to steal his toiletries, then he might as well hang it up. Ablutions complete, the two senior agents headed upstairs.

**22-22-22-22-22**

McGee was waiting when DiNozzo returned to the squadroom.

"Before you ask, Tony, it was nothing," McGee said as soon as he saw DiNozzo come around the corner.

"Didn't look like nothing," DiNozzo said, forgoing the nickname he'd usually insert. "Looked like Gibbs almost choked you out."

"He wasn't going to hurt me," McGee said. "He just needed to burn off some energy."

"When I told you to keep an eye on him, I didn't mean you should provoke him into a fight," DiNozzo said. He came around behind McGee's desk, looking closely at his neck.

"I didn't provoke him," McGee said, pushing his partner away. He looked around the bullpen and up the steps toward the darkened executive level. No sign of the boss. "I've never seen him so angry. I thought he was going to find Aziz and kill him. I had to stop him."

"By putting yourself in the line of fire? What are you, nuts? He could have killed you instead!"

"He wasn't going to hurt me," McGee repeated.

DiNozzo, too, looked around the room. Gibbs had a bad habit of appearing silently out of nowhere. "You've got some pretty big cajones there, my friend. Not sure I'd have done it."

"Sure you would have," McGee said seriously. "You'd do whatever it took to protect him. Who do you think I learned it from?"

DiNozzo stood there, staring at him, for several moments before finally cracking a smile and sticking out his hand. "Welcome to the big boy's table, Special Agent McGee."

McGee looked at him suspiciously for a second before shaking his hand.

"If you two are finished the introductions, I'd like to get to Aziz," Gibbs said as he stepped into the squadroom with Fornell on his heels. McGee jumped, a guilty look crossing his face. DiNozzo just smiled.

"Ready, Boss," DiNozzo said. He nodded at McGee, who nodded back. "You got the injury photos?" he asked McGee.

McGee handed DiNozzo a manila folder and DiNozzo returned to his own desk.

"McGee, call Abby, find out how long before she gets here, then give her a hand."

"On it," McGee said. He picked up the phone.

"Let's go, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

**22-22-22-22-22**

Gibbs stopped at observation while the other men continued to the interrogation room. He entered the darkened room and was standing in front of the glass when DiNozzo and Fornell stepped through. Gibbs watched as DiNozzo took the chair. Fornell stood in the near corner with his back facing the end of the mirror to Gibbs' left.

Aziz looked up when they came in, his expression unchanged.

"We've just come from seeing Amaya at the hospital," DiNozzo said. He waited for Aziz to ask after Amy. When a long moment passed and the man just stared at him, DiNozzo continued.

"Congratulations, you have a granddaughter," he said.

"I do not," Aziz said.

"Your daughter had a daughter. She's a little early, and a little small, but the doctors say she'll be okay," DiNozzo said.

"My daughter is dead," Aziz said.

"Uh, no," DiNozzo said slowly. "She's not."

"She was dead to me the moment she chose to defile herself by having sex outside of marriage."

In observation, Gibbs clenched and released his fists. Aziz was back to that.

"She's still alive," DiNozzo said. "You tried real hard to kill her, but she's apparently tougher than you thought."

No response from Aziz.

"Where were you last night when your daughter was being stoned?" DiNozzo asked.

"As I have already told you, I spent the day at the mosque," Aziz said. "I was there with my children until late into the evening, and then we went home."

"Where was Amy?" Fornell asked, joining the conversation. Aziz turned to look at him.

"Amaya came with us to the mosque. At some point during the evening, she left. I did not see her go, and do not know where she went."

"You're lying," DiNozzo said simply. "Try again, please." Aziz said nothing.

"When Amy wakes up, she's going to tell us what happened to her," Fornell said. "It would be better for you if you told us your side of the story first."

Aziz made a dismissive sound. "I have no side of the story," he said. "I do not know where Amaya went when she left the mosque. That is the only story."

"If you didn't know where she was, why didn't you report her missing?" DiNozzo asked. "You were certainly in a hurry to call us in last week."

"Last week I was concerned about her safety," Aziz said.

"But you weren't last night?" Fornell said.

"Amaya made her choice. She was no longer my concern."

"So you let them take her and kill her," DiNozzo said, leaning forward into his space a bit.

"I do not know what might have happened to Amaya after she left the mosque. But I am certain that whatever happened was the consequence of her choices."

"This is what happened to her," DiNozzo said sharply without raising his voice. He opened the file folder and spread out the photos of Amy in the hospital. Aziz glanced down, then looked away.

"Look at them, you bastard," Fornell said suddenly from the corner, shoving himself off the mirror. He grabbed one of the pictures and shoved it in Aziz's face. "She was just a kid!"

Behind the glass, Gibbs nodded to himself. It was how he would have played it, if he'd been in there: DiNozzo the calm, straightforward one, Fornell the hothead. Though considering the subject matter, DiNozzo's calm was a little rougher than usual. Understandably so.

"Amaya was old enough to know what was expected of her," Aziz said with just a hint of an edge, looking past the photo to Fornell. "She chose to ignore her responsibilities and shame her family. This is the consequence."

Fornell dropped the picture and leaned on the table, getting up close and personal with Aziz.

"She's your daughter," he shouted. "For 16 years you loved her and protected her. How the hell can you just switch that off?"

For a moment, Aziz just held his stare. Then he looked down at the photos spread on the table, and back up at Fornell.

"It was very difficult. She was my heart. My precious first born. With everything I am, I loved her. But she made her choice and gave me no option."

Fornell pushed himself off the table with a sound of disgust and stepped back to lean against the mirror again.

"No option but what?" DiNozzo asked.

"I had to cut her out of my life. To me, she is dead."

"But she wasn't really dead, so you had to kill her for real, to restore your family honor," DiNozzo said.

"I did not," Aziz said. "I told you she would come to no harm at my hand, and I kept my word."

"Look, Mr. Aziz, we know you had no choice," DiNozzo said, with far more understanding than he was actually feeling. "We know you had to tell the Imam what happened to your daughter. We know you didn't want her hurt, but the Imam said she had to be punished. He told you to bring her to the mosque, convinced you it was necessary. He took her to that construction site and made you watch while the elders stoned her. You had to participate, because that's what your Law says. You didn't want to, but you had no choice. We understand that."

There was a pause, a few moments of silence while the feds waited for Aziz to admit or deny. When there was nothing, DiNozzo tried again.

"Did you take her to that construction site yourself? Or did someone else drive her?"

"I played no part in what happened to Amaya. I was at the mosque with my children all afternoon and evening. When it came time to go home, Amaya was gone. I grow tired of telling you this."

"So stop telling us that and try the truth," Fornell snarled.

Aziz turned to look at him head on. "My attorney is Khalid Mahmood. I will speak no more until he is here." Aziz stacked the photographs and pushed the pile across the table, then folded his hands and looked at them expectantly. When neither man moved, Aziz cocked his head.

"I wish to be left alone while I wait."

DiNozzo stared at him for almost a minute. When Aziz didn't move, he pushed his chair back and stood. Fornell followed him out of the room.

**22-22-22-22-22**

"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said as they met up in the hall outside observation.

"Don't apologize," Gibbs said, adding: "Not your fault. I'm surprised he waited that long."

"So what's plan B?" Fornell asked.

"The mother," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo, go call his lawyer then head back to the mosque. Tell Ziva to meet us at Aziz's house."

"On it." DiNozzo turned and strode away. Gibbs went the other way, Fornell trailing along.

* * *

...to be continued...

I'm truly enjoying the comments I'm receiving on this story. Please keep 'em coming. joy


	23. Chapter 23 - What the Mother Knew

**Chapter Twenty-three - What the Mother Knew**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Previously..._

_"Sorry, Boss," DiNozzo said as they met up in the hall outside observation._

_"Don't apologize," Gibbs said, adding: "Not your fault. I'm surprised he waited that long."_

_"So what's plan B?" Fornell asked._

_"The mother," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo, go call his lawyer then head back to the mosque. Tell Ziva to meet us at Aziz's house."_

_"On it." DiNozzo turned and strode away. Gibbs went the other way, Fornell trailing along._

And now, on with the story:

* * *

They rode the elevator down one level to forensics. The lab was silent, but the door was open and the computers were showing screen savers. Someone had obviously been in.

"Where is she?" Fornell asked.

"Probably the garage," Gibbs said. They worked their way through the building to the evidence garage. When the elevator door opened, the agents found the garage was mostly dark. A pool of red light cast by several stand lights illuminated a space in the middle of the large space. A young woman was sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor in the middle of the light pool, with several five gallon buckets around her and a four-foot-square tarp in front of her. The tarp contained about a dozen rocks in neat rows: the stones from the construction site. She was wearing a red coverall and had her back to them, bobbing to the beat of music playing through headphones screwed into her ears. Her long black hair was tied up in two high pony tails, and they bobbed in counter-point.

As Fornell and Gibbs approached, she used long tweezers to pick a rock out of one bucket, sprayed it with something from a spray bottle, examined it, then dropped it into another bucket. She repeated the task but this time, she added the rock to the end of one of the rows on the tarp.

"DNA?" Fornell said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. The spray bottle contained luminol, which when looked at through orange glasses in red light made biologic material show up bright blue.

"Think she'll find any?" Fornell asked.

"If there's any there, she'll find it," Gibbs said. He stepped toward the woman.

"Abby!" he called. There was no answer. He got close enough to touch her shoulder and she jerked around with a small sound of surprise.

"Oh! Gibbs," she said. She held out a hand and he pulled her to her feet. Sure enough, she was wearing a pair of orange-tinted plastic glasses. She pulled them off, jerking the headphones out of her ears at the same time. When she saw his face clearly, she repeated herself, her tone anguished. "Oh, Gibbs!"

Abby reached for his face, much as Fornell had done. Gibbs let her ghost her fingers over the swelling.

"What happened?" she asked softly, her concern obvious.

"It's alright, Abby," he said in a light tone. "Nothing's broken."

She gently brushed the steri-strips, then turned to Fornell with an almost accusing tone. "Who did this?"

"Amy's boyfriend," Fornell supplied, and Gibbs turned to glare at him. Fornell ignored him and continued. "Fool let the kid take his anger out on his face."

Abby stared at Gibbs, seeking the truth. Gibbs nodded a little and she shook her head almost fondly.

Abigail Sciuto was a forensic scientist, the best Gibbs had ever worked with. Which was a good thing: she was very unusual, and she never would have survived in a para-military organization like NCIS had her skills not been top notch. Even so, Gibbs had had to go to bat for her more than once when her Goth style had raised the wrong eyebrows. Gibbs knew that under the coverall, her clothing would be mostly black. She had a habit of wearing chains and collars that would look great on your average pit bull. Not to mention accents of skulls and bats and all things gothic.

Abby had come to NCIS at Ducky's recommendation almost 15 years before. At first, Gibbs hadn't known what to make of her exuberant attitude and child-like innocence, especially when coupled with her incredible intelligence. Gibbs had been in a pretty ugly place emotionally at the time. He was intentionally gruff and unapproachable, almost surly at times. Most people reacted like he was wearing an invisible "get lost" sign around his neck. Abby didn't seem to care. She got under his skin and refused to let him be.

It didn't take long before Gibbs began to develop a fondness for the young scientist. It helped that she didn't talk down to him like every other of her profession he'd worked with, and that she seemed to truly enjoy helping catch the dirtbags. It wasn't long before she'd wormed her way into his heart. He couldn't say when it happened, but suddenly he realized he had actually begun to look forward to visiting the forensics lab. Gibbs found out her favorite beverage was the super-caffeinated "Caff-Pow" and he became her regular supplier. In turn, she put his work at the top of her list, and seemed to work double hard to make sure she found whatever he needed. Over time, Abby became a representation of the daughter Gibbs had lost. And like a favorite child, he let her get away with things no one else could. Like calling him on it when he did something stupid.

"You really shouldn't do that, Gibbs," Abby said and dropped her hand. "You're not as young as you used to be, you know. I mean, you're tough and all, but still…"

"I know," Gibbs said simply. "You find anything yet?"

At that moment, the door to the outside opened, splashing the garage in daylight. McGee came through, carrying a five-gallon bucket of rocks.

"You ready for more?" he asked, struggling a bit with the unwieldy bucket.

"Yeah, take those," she pointed to an almost-full bucket to the left. McGee traded his full bucket for the one Abby had indicated, nodded at Gibbs and Fornell, and went back outside.

"There's biologics on those," Abby said, pointing to the rows of rocks on the tarp. "Also, there's a bunch of hair mixed into it, some of it stuck to the biologics."

"Probably Amy's," Gibbs said. "They cut it."

Abby knit her brow and pursed her lips in a look of anger. "That's not right."

"None of this is, Abs," Gibbs said.

"Once I've looked at all the rocks, I'll start figuring out what kind of biologics there is and who it belongs to."

"You gonna need more help?" Gibbs asked.

"Nah. McGee's working hard for me." She paused. "I heard Amy's really hurt bad," she said in a sober tone. Abby had not been involved in the first part of the case, but when she returned from vacation she had heard through the grapevine what Gibbs and the rest of her team had done for the teenager. She had been proud of them.

"She is," Gibbs agreed.

"Do we know who did it?" she asked.

"We know one of them," Gibbs said.

"When will you get the rest?" Abby said, and as always, Gibbs was struck by her confidence in him. It wasn't 'if' he'd get them, it was 'when.'

"Soon as you tell me who they are," Gibbs said.

"Then let me get back to work," she said, and pushed the orange glasses back onto her face. She turned to Fornell. "You better watch his back from now on, Mister G-Man," she said sternly, wagging her finger in his face.

"That's Special Agent G-Man to you," Fornell said with mock seriousness, then with a changed tone, "I will."

"You'd better," she said. "Now shoo." She turned away from them, folded her legs and dropped gracefully to the floor.

**23-23-23-23-23**

They took Fornell's car across the river to Summerfield Housing, pulling into a drive-thru for more coffee on the way. Traffic was light. The sky was still overcast, speaking of more rain to come. Fornell pulled up in front of the house and parked. They'd beaten Ziva there. Since she was coming from across the city, it wasn't surprising. Fornell shut off the engine and there were a few minutes of silence.

"You think the mother was involved?" Fornell said suddenly. Gibbs shrugged, sipped at his coffee.

"You gonna treat her as a suspect or a witness?" he asked.

"Don't know yet," Gibbs said. "Haven't even met her."

"What about the kids? You think they know anything?"

"DiNozzo said Yameen does. Ziva says he probably participated."

Fornell cursed. Gibbs agreed.

"If that's true, why not start with him? DiNozzo says he lies, but he's not good at it."

"Might go that way," Gibbs said. "But he's not likely to say anything in front of his mother."

Further conversation was put on hold when Ziva pulled up behind Fornell's car. The men got out and met her on the sidewalk.

"Have you heard anything new from the hospital?" was the first thing Ziva asked.

"No," Gibbs said.

"No news might be good news, yes?" Ziva asked.

"Might be," he said.

The three federal agents moved up the walk to the front door and Fornell rang the bell. Gibbs stood back and partly behind Fornell. He didn't want his mangled face to be the first thing she saw.

After a minute with no answer, Fornell rang again. When another minute passed, he knocked hard. Another minute, still no answer.

"Ziva," Gibbs said. "Talk to her. Tell her we're here to be sure she's safe. Tell her if she doesn't answer, we're going to break in."

Ziva's eyes widened, but she did as asked, speaking loudly in Pashto. There was nothing for another minute, then the door cracked open slightly.

"We are fine. Please go away," came the soft voice of the lady of the house. Her accent was strong, but her words were in clear English. They could barely see her outline through the crack in the door. When she made to push the door shut again, Fornell stuck his foot out.

"Mrs. Aziz, we need to come inside and ask you a few questions. It will only take a few minutes."

"My husband does not wish for me to speak to you," she said. "Please go."

Ziva spoke to her, her voice gentle but insistent. Mrs. Aziz responded in her own language, and after several exchanges, they heard her sigh a little and let the door open fully. She was wearing an abaya identical to the one she'd had on last time they saw her, only this one was black with faint green embroidery at the hem and cuffs. Her eyes – all they could see behind her veil – were swollen and red. She gestured them inside.

"Nicely done," Fornell said under his breath. He entered first, then Ziva, then Gibbs. When Mrs. Aziz saw Gibbs injuries, she gasped a little. He tried to give her a reassuring look, but he could tell she didn't buy it.

Mrs. Aziz closed the door behind them and pushed past them down the hall. The agents followed her into the living room. She moved across the room to stand in front of the dark fireplace in the corner and turned to look at them.

"Why don't we sit?" Fornell suggested. She gestured at the couch, but made no move to sit herself. Trying to put her at ease, the agents sat. Ziva took the lead.

"Mrs. Aziz, I am Ziva David, from NCIS. I was here earlier, when we arrested your husband." Mrs. Aziz nodded.

"Amaya is in the hospital. She was very badly hurt last night. Did you know that?" Another nod.

"She had her baby. A little girl. Amaya chose her name before she was born. Her name is Rebecca." At this, the woman's eyes widened, and there was a small sob.

"Do you know why she chose that name?" Gibbs asked. Mrs. Aziz nodded several times, but did not explain.

"Will she live?" she asked instead, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Rebecca has a very good chance," Gibbs said. "Amaya's injuries are severe. But she's still alive, so there's hope."

Mrs. Aziz began to cry softly. The agents waited. She caught her breath after a minute.

"What happened to Amaya last night?" Ziva asked. Mrs. Aziz shook her head and did not answer.

"Hannah…" Ziva said. "May I call you Hannah?"

At the mention of her given name, Mrs. Aziz physically recoiled and her eyes showed shock. She shook her head rapidly.

"That is not my name. My name is Minal," she said.

"Minal. That means 'gift'," Ziva said, and she nodded.

"Minal, you gave your daughter life," Ziva said. "You brought her into the world and taught her what being a good mother looked like. She wanted nothing more than to do the same for her daughter. For her Rebecca. And for that crime, someone tried to kill them both. Do you believe that is what she deserved?"

Minal shook her head slowly and sniffed.

"Then help us find the men who hurt her," Ziva said. "Help us get Amaya the justice she deserves. Tell us what you know. Please."

Another head shake. "I am sorry. I cannot help you," Minal said.

"But you were there," Ziva challenged. "They would have made you bear witness."

She closed her eyes, and fresh tears tracked out of them, disappearing down her cheeks under her veil.

"Please help us," Ziva said.

"I cannot," Minal said, her voice plaintive.

"You can," Ziva insisted. "Tell us who was there. Tell us who threw the first stone."

"No!" she cried. "I can't."

"Were the other kids there?" Gibbs asked suddenly, his voice hard. "Did Yameen and Sadiyah watch them try to kill their sister?"

There was a moment of shocked silence from everyone in the room. Ziva looked at Gibbs, her expression surprised. Fornell glanced that way, but his face was impassive. Minal took a hard breath and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I can't help you," she said finally and sniffed again. "I'm sorry. Now please go."

"Where are the kids?" Gibbs asked, ignoring her. "We'll need to talk to them."

"No," she said. "They have nothing to do with this. You will not speak with them."

"We will speak with them," Gibbs said. "Now."

"You can stay with them while we talk," Fornell was quick to add. "It's your right as their parent. But we do need to see them."

"My husband wouldn't approve," she said.

"I don't care," Gibbs said. "Get them down here. Now."

Minal hesitated.

"Do it." Gibbs barked out the order. She gave a small nod and hurried out of the room. They heard her footsteps on the stairs over their heads a moment later.

"Being a little hard on her, aren't you Gibbs?" Fornell said when he was sure she was out of earshot.

"She was there. She watched it happen," he ground out. "She could have done something."

"No, she could not," Ziva said firmly. "It is a crime to interfere. They would have killed her as well."

"She could have screamed. She could have run to the cops. She could have done something," Gibbs maintained.

"No," Ziva repeated. "Any move she made could have cost her life. She has two other children to protect."

"So she sacrificed Amy to save them," Gibbs said.

"She might have," Ziva said. "It might have been the best choice she could make."

There was the sound of feet descending the stairs. Minal reappeared, holding Sadiyah under her arm and pushing Yameen ahead of her with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hello Yameen," Ziva said.

"Hello," he said. His voice was small.

"You must be Sadie," Gibbs said to the little girl, his voice kind and all trace of his frustration vanished. "Amy told me about you. It's nice to meet you in person."

"Hello," she whispered. When they'd seen the youngest member of the Aziz family through the window the day this whole thing started, she'd been wearing a pink sweatshirt and had her short hair loose. Now, she was wearing a black abaya and hijab similar to her mother's, with her hair covered but her face showing. Also like her mother, her eyes were red and swollen.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently. She nodded. Mother and children stayed standing, and with Gibbs sitting on the couch, he was just at her eye level.

"My name is Gibbs. Did Amy tell you about me?" he played a hunch.

"Yes," she said, her voice tiny. "She was calling you every day. She said you were going to make sure she was okay. But she's not okay."

A stab of guilt Gibbs him so hard he actually had to swallow a gasp. He covered it by clearing his throat.

"I know. Some people hurt her. Did you know that?"

Sadie nodded solemnly. "Did they hurt you, too?" she asked.

Gibbs smiled. "No. I fell down at work."

"You should be more careful," she said. Gibbs heard Fornell grunt beside him. Sadie spoke again.

"Father said Amy is dead. Is that true?" she asked.

"No," Gibbs said. "But she is hurt very badly. She's in the hospital. She still might die, but the doctors are trying to help her."

Sadie nodded once more. "Father said she was dead last week, but she wasn't then, either." She looked over at Ziva. "You came and took Father away last night. You and that other man. Where did you take him?"

"He's at our office," Gibbs said, not wanting Ziva to reveal too much.

"Is he going to come back?"

"Not right away," Gibbs said. "Is that okay?"

Sadie looked up at her mother, then back at Gibbs before nodding.

"In the meantime, we're going to find out who hurt Amy, and make sure they can never hurt anyone again," Gibbs said.

"Okay," she said. "That would be good."

"Yes, it would." He paused. "Are you scared?"

Sadie thought about it for a second, then nodded.

"You don't need to be scared. It'll be alright." Gibbs said.

"But what about when Father…" she paused, checked in with her mother again. She apparently saw something there she didn't like, because she didn't go on, instead looking down at her feet. Gibbs went for the thing he figured she was most likely afraid of.

"We're going to be sure you're safe, Sadie. You and your mom and Yameen, too. No one is going to hurt you. I promise."

Sadie nodded, but didn't look up.

"I heard chocolate kisses are your favorite," Gibbs said. The little girl looked up suddenly.

"I like kisses, too," Gibbs said. "Kiss mail is my favorite. Kind of like airmail, only better." Her eyes narrowed as she considered that. Gibbs gave her a little more.

"Sometimes when I'm worried or scared, I send out kiss mail. It makes me feel better." Sadie suddenly smiled and her eyes lit up. Precocious indeed.

"It makes me feel better too," Sadie said, and nodded. Next to her, Minal's eyes showed suspicion.

"You know what I'm talking about?" Gibbs asked, just to be sure. He knew there was no way in hell the mother was going to let him speak to her alone, and he knew the only way she could talk to them without supervision was through the notes. She was just bright enough that it might work.

"I understand," she said, and nodded.

"Good," Gibbs said. "I need to talk to your mom and your brother now. You can go back up to your room."

Sadie nodded again, and pulled away from her mother. She looked at Gibbs and gave him a small smile before scampering away and up the stairs.

* * *

...to be continued...

Sorry for the late post. It's been quite the weekend.

Thank you to all who've reviewed. Your words are received with humble gratitude. joy


	24. Chapter 24 - Progress?

**A/N:** I'm trying to be responsive to some PM feedback I've gotten, so I'll put this up here instead of at the bottom. Please be advised (as they say on the dispatch radio) I will be changing internet providers next weekend, and may not be able to post on time. But I will get it up sometime before Monday comes on the West Coast of North America. Promise.

Many thanks to all who've reviewed. I truly enjoy knowing you're out there. joy

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-four : Progress?**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Gibbs, Fornell, and David are talking to Mrs. Aziz in her home. She has informed them her name is not Hannah, as it said on her marriage certificate, but 'Minal' which means 'Gift.' After getting no admission of knowledge from her, Gibbs - with far more gruffness than normal - demanded Mrs. Aziz bring Yameen and Sadiyah downstairs to be interviewed. After reluctantly producing the children, Gibbs gently and subtly told Sadie to send him more 'kiss mail' if she wanted to talk. He then dismissed her and turned to the boy and his mother._

_Now, on with the story..._

* * *

"Why don't you sit," Gibbs said to Minal. She stared at him, then pulled Yameen with her over to the smaller couch.

"You remember Special Agent David?" Gibbs asked Yameen. The boy nodded. During the conversation with Sadie, he'd been giving off waves of fear that Gibbs could almost smell. It was what DiNozzo had picked up earlier.

"She's going to ask you a few questions about what you saw last night."

"I did not see anything," Yameen said quickly, and glanced at his mother.

"How old are you, Yameen?" Ziva asked.

"Thirteen," Yameen said.

"So you are already a man," she said. He nodded.

"And as a Muslim man, it is your duty to uphold the tenets of your faith," Ziva said. "Is that not true?"

Yameen looked at his mother again.

"Stop consulting your mother," Ziva said, her voice hardening a little. "Are you a man or not?"

"Leave him alone. He is just a boy," Minal said.

"No, Mother, I am a man," Yameen objected, though he didn't sound that certain.

"Your father instructed you to walk your sister to class because it was proper that she be accompanied by a man when she was in public. Is that right?"

"I guess," Yameen said.

"And when she snuck away and broke the Law, it was proper that she be punished. Is that right?"

"That's right. Father made her stay in her room for a week," Yameen said.

"For sneaking out of the house, wearing revealing clothing, and meeting a boy."

"Yes," the teen agreed.

"Then, when he found out she was expecting a baby, she had to be punished again," Ziva said. "For dishonoring herself and her family."

"I guess," he said again, though he was clearly hesitant.

"As a man, who is duty-bound to uphold the tenets of your faith, and as Amaya's brother, you would have been required to be there, to participate in the restoration of your family's honor."

"Stop it!" Minal said. "Leave him alone. He knows nothing." She gathered Yameen to her, pulling his head into her chest. He struggled, but only for a second.

"Yes, he does," Fornell said. "He was there, he knows what happened."

"He doesn't," she repeated. "Now please, you must go."

"He's going to tell us what he knows," Gibbs said sharply.

"No," Minal said again, and they all saw a sudden change in her demeanor. She had gone from submissive to protective, just that fast. "You will not speak to him further. I insist that you leave."

There was a moment while Ziva consulted Gibbs, and Fornell waited for a sign. Yameen stayed where he was, his face buried in his mother's breast.

"He will tell us eventually," Gibbs warned. "If we have to arrest him and force it out of him, we will."

"Gibbs," Ziva said, a hint of warning in her voice. He ignored her.

"You can try, but you'll never get a warrant," Minal said. "You have no proof he's done anything wrong. Now get out."

Gibbs gathered his anger by sheer force of will and tried one more time.

"Mrs. Aziz. We're not after you, or Yameen. We know you were there when they stoned your little girl. We know Yameen was there. My sources tell me he threw at least one stone. But we also know the pressure you were both under."

Fornell picked it up. "Your husband and the men at the mosque. They're responsible for this, and they're the ones we want. But someone will be punished for what happened to Amy. If you don't help us get the ones responsible, we won't have a choice but to go after you and your son. Do you understand?"

"Get out of my house," Minal said. "Or I'll call the MPs and have you removed."

"We're going," Fornell said and stood, followed immediately by Ziva. Fornell moved over to where Gibbs was still sitting.

"Let's go," Fornell said under his breath. Gibbs shoved himself up, ignored the slight headrush that once again threatened, and strode out of the house.

The agents were silent as they returned to Fornell's car. Gibbs looked around the Charger, not finding what he expected.

"Check under the car," Gibbs ordered Ziva, who dropped to a crouch and then down onto her hands, looking for a paper ball message from Sadie.

"There is nothing," Ziva said when she rose.

"Damn it," Gibbs said, and yanked open the passenger door. He threw himself into the seat and slammed the door. Ziva and Fornell exchanged a glance over the roof, Ziva raising her eyes questioningly.

"Give me a minute," Fornell said. He got behind the wheel, leaving Ziva standing outside.

Fornell turned in his seat to look at Gibbs. Gibbs stared outside through the windshield.

"What?" Gibbs growled, after the silence became thick.

"Threatening that mama bear isn't going to get you anywhere," Fornell said.

"According to Ziva, that 'mama bear' sacrificed her daughter to save herself," Gibbs said fiercely.

"I know, Jethro," Fornell said. "And it pisses me off, too. But you've got to keep your head in the game."

Gibbs said nothing.

"Did you notice her speech pattern changed?" Fornell said. Gibbs frowned, tilting his head as he reviewed the conversation.

"She started out talking like Ziva. By the end, she was speaking like a native," Fornell said. Gibbs realized he was right.

"And she challenged your evidence, almost dared you to try get an arrest warrant," Fornell added.

"She knew what she was talking about," Gibbs mused.

"How?" Fornell asked. He could sense Gibbs' anger again draining as he considered that anomaly.

"Maybe she watches a lot of TV," Gibbs said.

"Did you see a television in that house?" Fornell asked. Gibbs made a grunt of agreement.

A minute later, Fornell asked: "What'd you read on her when Ziva called her 'Hannah'?"

Gibbs thought back to the moment. "Fear," he said.

"Me too," Fornell said. "Why?"

Gibbs' response was cut off by a 'clunk' as something hit the windshield. Both men involuntarily flinched.

"There it is," Ziva called from outside. She picked a thick fold of paper secured with more scotch tape than was strictly necessary off the hood. She looked up at the house where the window was just closing, then got in the back. She offered it to Gibbs.

"Read it," Gibbs said.

Ziva pulled at the tape, trying to get it open, then leaned sideways to reach for her pocket knife.

"Here," Gibbs said. Ziva looked up and saw Gibbs holding his knife over the sear. She took it with a nod. She flipped it open and used the tip to carefully slit between the folds of paper until it could be unfolded. There were no kisses this time. She handed the knife back and started reading.

"Dear Mr. Gibbs. Why were you shouting at Mother? It's not nice to shout at people. Amy says sometimes when grownups are scared, they act mad. Were you scared of something? I'm scared. A bad thing happened to Amy, and I'm scared bad things might happen to me too. Yameen is scared too, but he's trying not to let anyone know. When I got home he was crying and crying and crying. He was trying to hide it but I heard him through the wall. I went into his room and he pretended he was fine but I could tell he wasn't. And mother was crying, too. That was even before Father came home and told us Amy was dead, and then the agents came and took Father away. I don't know what's happening, but I'm scared. Can you help us? I don't have any money to pay for help, but Amy said that we didn't need any money, you were helping her for free. I hope that's true. Sadie."

Ziva turned the paper over. "There is a P.S. She says 'I don't have any more kisses. Can I owe you?' That's it."

Gibbs took a breath. "She got home this morning," he said. "From where?"

"Both of the children were in pajamas when we arrived. They looked like they had been sleeping," Ziva said.

"And mom and the son were already upset before the father made the announcement. So they already knew," Fornell said.

"Minal and Yameen were home, crying, then Sadie came home, then the father," Ziva said.

"Kills his alibi," Fornell said.

"Theory still holds," Gibbs said. "Mother and Yameen were at the stoning, then Aziz sends them home, follows later."

"Doesn't sound like Sadie was there," Fornell said.

"Small favors," Gibbs said.

"What now?" Fornell asked.

In answer, Gibbs took out his phone. He dialed a number from memory, identified himself, and asked to speak to the MP watch officer. After identifying himself again, he arranged to have a marked military police unit come by the house.

"You think that'll help?" Fornell asked after Gibbs hung up.

"Can't hurt. Might make Sadie feel better, anyway," Gibbs said. "If nothing else, it'll show the Mother we're watching."

"Watching for what?" Ziva asked.

"Whatever happens," Gibbs said. "I want eyes on that family until every one of those bastards is in custody."

Gibbs' phone rang in his hand and he glanced at it: the hospital. The conversation was brief, and when he hung up this time, there was a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Amy made it through surgery. They repaired everything they could."

"Has her prognosis improved?" Ziva asked from the back seat.

"She made it this far," Gibbs said. "Still grave condition, but still alive."

A small black SUV festooned with whip antennas turned the corner ahead of them and pulled to a stop on their side of the street, a car length ahead and facing the wrong direction. The agents got out and met two young Marines in marpats. Gibbs filled them in on why they were here, and what to watch and listen for.

"Mostly, it's a show of force for a little girl whose sister was stoned last night, probably by her own father and a bunch of his friends." Both men were visibly startled. "And you being here might just convince her mother it's safe to tell us what she knows."

"Stoned?" the younger man asked.

"She got pregnant. Dishonored her family. She's barely 16 years old."

"You get them yet?" This from the older one.

"Working on it." He pointed to Sadie's window. "That's the little girl's room. She might throw down messages on paper. If she does, collect 'em and give me a call. You hear any sounds of distress, get in there, then call me."

Gibbs gave them his cell number, which the older man wrote in a small notebook he took from his breast pocket.

"If you get pulled without relief, call NCIS dispatch so we can get someone else over here."

"Will do." The Marines returned to their truck.

"Ziva, get back to the mosque. I need faces," Gibbs said.

"Okay," Ziva agreed. She headed for her car and a moment later, pulled away. Gibbs stood beside Fornell's car for a minute, looking up at Sadie's window.

"She'll be fine," Fornell said. "Aziz is in lock up, and the mother isn't going to hurt either one of them."

Gibbs nodded, said nothing, and got in the car.

"Back to the hospital," Gibbs said before Fornell could ask.

"Yes, sir," Fornell said with more than a smidge of sarcasm. Gibbs ignored him.

**24-24-24-24-24**

On the drive to GW Hospital, Gibbs gave some thought to Minal Aziz. They'd put the search into her past on the back burner when things reached a status quo with Amy. Ziva had spent some time trying to locate the Qadi who had borne witness to the Aziz marriage and had come up empty, and they'd stopped working the angle. It hadn't seemed that important in the big picture.

But now, Gibbs wanted to know more. The fear she'd shown when Ziva had called her by the name on her marriage certificate had been strange to say the least. It pointed to a hidden past that she wanted to keep hidden. Until now, they'd figured the lack of information about her was just bad record-keeping in a culture that really didn't care that much about women. Her reaction to her given name meant the information had likely been hidden on purpose. And that made Gibbs' radar go off.

"Why do you suppose the mother changed her name?" Fornell asked as he turned into the hospital parking lot. Gibbs was briefly startled that their thought tracks were aligned.

"Don't know," he replied.

"Doesn't necessarily mean anything," Fornell said.

"Lots of reasons people change their names," Gibbs agreed.

"Most of them are wholly innocent."

"True."

"Get tired of the old one. Like the new one better."

"Yup."

Fornell parked and shut off the engine. "Coincidences do happen sometimes," he said.

"Not often." They got out.

"She's hiding from something," Fornell said. "The fear was because she was afraid she'd been found."

"Uh huh," Gibbs said. They stepped through the sliding door into the ER.

"Your gut giving you any clue?"

"Maybe," Gibbs said. Fornell stopped, put a hand out to stop Gibbs.

"Care to enlighten me?" he said. The two agents faced each other.

"Just a thought. What if the connection to Davenport isn't him? What if it's her?"

Fornell frowned. "What connection could an Afghani mother have to the Secretary of the Navy? Even a former one?"

"Don't know. Somehow, they got Davenport's ear when Amy ran away. We couldn't find a connection with the father. We didn't look to the mother. What if it was her? What if she used to be someone else? Someone more than an Afghani mother?"

Fornell shrugged. "Worth checking out," he said. "Not sure what it has to do with who tried to kill Amy."

"Might be nothing."

"Might be something," Fornell said. They resumed walking toward the triage area. "Wonderkid might be able to find something more, now that you know the direction you want to look," he added.

"Might," Gibbs agreed.

They stepped up to the desk and Fornell inquired about Amy's whereabouts. They were sent up to the fifth floor of the trauma building. While they were waiting for the elevator, Gibbs called Abby.

"You still need McGee?" he asked her when she picked up. He didn't hear any music in the background, so he figured she was probably still in the garage.

"Why?"

"I need him," Gibbs said.

"Aw, Gibbs, that's so sweet, you need him…" Abby said.

"Knock it off, Abs. Not in the mood."

There was a pause. "Any news on Amy?" she asked, her tone more serious.

"She made it through surgery," Gibbs said. The elevator arrived, empty, and Gibbs stood in the doorway to hold it.

"That's something, right?"

"It's something," he agreed. "You find anything on those rocks yet?"

"There's about two thousand of them. Most of them were washed by the rain. I've only found 55 stones with biologicals on them so far, with less than two buckets to go. I'll be moving upstairs as soon as I'm done, start working on identifying the sources."

"Good. Tell McGee to call me when you're done with him."

"Will do," she said. Gibbs hung up. He stepped into the elevator car and they rode upstairs.

Once there, they found themselves in a large waiting room with several doors leading out of it in different directions. Groups of people were scattered around the room, each a respectful distance from the next. Families, Gibbs realized. A sign next to the door across from the elevator instructed visitors to use the intercom for admittance. Gibbs stepped up and pushed the button.

After identifying himself and being invited in, the door next to them buzzed. Fornell pushed on it and they went through.

"Amaya Aziz?" Fornell asked at the clerk's desk.

"ID?" the clerk asked. Both agents produced and displayed their credentials. The clerk glanced at them.

"She's on visitor restriction. No one gets in unless they're on the approved visitor's list," he said. Gibbs pushed his ID card a little closer.

"Gibbs. I wrote the list," Gibbs said, leaving no room for argument. Half of him was annoyed at the delay. The other half was pleased the clerk was taking Amy's security seriously. "How is she?" he asked.

The clerk checked his name, looked at the list, and made an 'ah ha' sound under his breath. He shrugged. "She just got here. Her nurse is at the room. 510." He gestured down the hall. They headed that way.

The hallway ran the length of the hospital, broken every 50 feet or so by open fire doors. To their right toward the interior of the building was a series of nursing stations, conference rooms, public restrooms, storage and other small rooms. To the left toward the outside wall were the patient rooms, each private, large, and glassed-in with curtains pulled across most of the glass. Some of the curtains were pulled back and as the agents moved down the hallway they noted patients in various states of trauma: some clearly comatose, some on ventilators, some conscious and clearly in pain. All were bandaged and splinted and wrapped in dressings.

Outside 510, a nurse was sitting on a tall stool at a counter. A small window in an angled wall gave her a view into the room. The curtains were drawn around the rest of the glass, hiding the occupant from the hallway.

"Can I help you?" she asked as they paused at the doorway.

"Special Agents Fornell and Gibbs," Fornell spoke for the pair. "We're here to see Amaya Aziz."

"I'm her nurse today. My name's Michael," she said, and paused a beat as if waiting for their response to her name. When there wasn't one, she went on. "She just got up here a few minutes ago. The team that brought her up from post-op said she did really well."

"Is she still under?" Fornell asked.

"Yes. The neurologist decided it would be best to keep her in an induced coma until the swelling in her brain stabilizes."

"How long's that likely to take?" Gibbs asked.

Michael was shaking her head. "It's impossible to know. She's suffered severe head trauma. Could be weeks, if she lives that long."

"Any update on her prognosis?" Gibbs asked. He knew there couldn't be, knew it was too soon, but he had to ask.

"She's made it this far," Michael said. "That's a good sign. Her pulse rate and blood pressure stayed steady throughout surgery, and the internal organ damage wasn't as bad as they'd feared. But it's still really early."

"Understood," Gibbs said. "Mind if we sit with her awhile?"

"Of course. I have to warn you, though: Have either of you ever seen a patient with an intracranial pressure monitor?"

"A bolt," Gibbs said. "We've seen it."

"Good. It can be a bit frightening the first time. Wear gloves if you're going to touch her. Wash your hands first. Sink's over there." She indicated a sink across the hall between two of the nurse's desks.

The men both washed up then returned to the room. Michael hopped off the stool and ushered them inside.

The lights in the room were off, filtered daylight coming in through a high window that reminded Gibbs of his basement. The bed was high, the mattress at waist level. It was flat but tilted so the head end was higher than the foot. Michael pulled a box of gloves out of a holder on the wall and held it out to the feds. Both men took a pair and slid them on with practiced ease.

Gibbs moved up next to the bed and let his eyes play over Amy's still form. A sheet folded in half covered her from just above her breasts to just above her knees. He silently cataloged her obvious injuries: Amy's head was swathed in clean bandages that hid her eyebrows, her ears, and the nape of her neck. There was a three-inch-long plastic tube about the diameter of a toilet paper roll sticking out of the bandages near the crest of her head above her right ear, wires leading out of the tube to a nearby computer monitor. Gibbs recognized the 'bolt' measuring the pressure inside her skull. The bruising and swelling on her face had worsened, becoming a dark purple color. The collar around her neck was still present, the ventilator tube still down her throat. A figure-eight collarbone brace showed around both her shoulders. Her left arm was in a splint from shoulder to fingers, elbow at 90 degrees and lower arm resting on her chest. Her right arm was held by two splints, one each above and below that elbow. Where her fingers showed, he could see they were scraped raw.

Below the bottom edge of the sheet, Amy's legs were similarly scraped and bruised, but there were no splints. Gibbs realized her legs were probably under her during the attack.

"My God," Fornell whispered. It was his first in-person look at Amy's injuries.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He examined the monitors surrounding the bed. They showed what Michael had said: her vitals were strong.

"Is she in pain?" Fornell asked.

"No," Michael said as she checked the IVs hanging on a pole beside the bed. "She's under way too deep to feel anything."

They stood by the bed, watching her chest rise and fall, listening to the beeps and whooshes that meant Amy was still alive.

"Do you have any other questions?" Michael asked after a minute.

"What drugs did she have on board when she got here?" Gibbs asked.

"Fentanyl," she said.

"How much?"

"The lab said it was a very large dose, but she hadn't metabolized it all before they hit her with the narcan and stopped the effect."

"How long before she arrived here?" Gibbs asked.

Michael shook her head. "I don't know. You'd have to talk to someone from the lab to figure that out."

Gibbs nodded, turning his focus back to Amy.

"Anything else?" Michael asked. Both feds shook their heads.

"Alright. I'll be outside. Take your time." She left them.

Gibbs moved over closer to the bed and reached out to gently touch Amy's bare elbow.

"It's Gibbs, Amy. You're in the hospital. You're safe here. Your baby, Rebecca, she's doing fine. Daniel is with her. You're both safe now."

There was no response from Amy, but Gibbs hadn't expected one. Fornell moved around the bed to the far side. He looked down at her for a long minute.

"Promise me something, Jethro," Fornell said finally. Gibbs looked up at his old friend, a question on his face.

"We're not going to stop until every bastard that threw a stone is doing hard time."

"You can count on that," Gibbs answered. "And I don't care if we have to chase them all the way to Afghanistan. We will get every last one of them. Hand to God."

* * *

...to be continued...


	25. Chapter 25 - How it happened

New internet installed today. Who new downloads could happen that fast?

As always, thanks to those who've reviewed. My pulse spikes just a little every time I see that magical subject line: [ New Review ] for Jihad.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-five: How it Happened**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Previously..._

_Fornell moved around to the far side of Amy's bed. He looked down at her for a long minute._

_"Promise me something, Jethro," Fornell said finally. Gibbs looked up at his old friend, a question on his face._

_"We're not going to stop until every bastard that threw a stone is doing hard time."_

_"You can count on that," Gibbs answered. "And I don't care if we have to chase them all the way to Afghanistan. We will get every last one of them. Hand to God."_

* * *

Fornell nodded sharply, then cleared his throat. "I'm going to work. You need me for anything?"

Still looking down at Amy, Gibbs bobbed his head up and down slowly. "Go up to the NICU and talk to Daniel before you go. See if he knows who Rebecca's father is."

"It's not him?" Fornell asked, surprised.

"Huh uh," Gibbs said. "Rebecca's not black. Nurse said…" Gibbs paused, thought, considering.

"Nurse said the father's white. Suggested Amy might be part Caucasian as well."

Fornell paused. "How much a part?"

" 'The vast majority of her physical traits are Caucasian'," Gibbs quoted the nurse. "She said either the father's fully original European white, or one of Amy's parents is more Caucasian than not."

"One of her parents…" Fornell mused. "It sure as hell isn't Aziz."

A light bulb suddenly came on in Gibbs' head, facts coming together. "When we were trying to trace the mother, Amy told us she didn't think her mother was born in Afghanistan. Said she was too fair," Gibbs said.

"The plot thickens," Fornell said. "Might be why she changed her name. And why she was scared when we used her old one."

"Why would anyone care if she was Caucasian?" Gibbs wondered aloud.

"Might just be a cultural thing," Fornell suggested. "White woman marrying a Muslim man?"

Gibbs ran his gloved fingers back and forth along the skin of Amy's elbow. "It was the fall of Kandahar. She was 18," he said.

"What would an 18-year-old white girl be doing in Kandahar in the first place?" Fornell asked. "Never mind getting married to a local man?"

"A local man 17 years older than she," Gibbs added.

Silence for a moment. "There's something there," Fornell said finally.

"You think?" Gibbs said almost absently.

"You don't?" Fornell asked.

"Well of course I do, Tobias. As a matter of fact, I think there's a lot there."

"What're you going to do about it?"

"Me? Nothing," Gibbs said. "You're going to talk to Daniel. McGee's going to start the cyber hunt. I'm going to stay here and keep Amy company for a while."

Fornell looked at him strangely. "You are," he said after a moment.

"I am."

"Okay then," he replied. With a last look at Amy, Fornell stepped away from the bed. He stripped his gloves off and tossed them in a trash can in the corner. Seeing a chair across the room, he tugged it over next to where Gibbs was standing.

"I'll let you know what I find out," Fornell said, and left the room without further comment.

Gibbs hooked the chair leg with his foot and pulled it into position so he could sit down and still stay in contact with Amy. Sitting down, she was just below his eye level. He watched her chest rise and fall, and listened to the machines keeping her alive.

**25-25-25-25-25**

The first time Fornell met Jethro Gibbs, they'd been on opposite sides of a jurisdictional pissing match that Gibbs – and NCIS – had eventually won. It had truly pissed Fornell off that a retread Marine from the lowest agency on the armed fed food chain had bested the mighty Federal Bureau of Investigation. He'd made it his mission to annoy, obstruct and harass Gibbs every chance he got from that point forward.

As they butted heads over cases during the next few years, they'd developed a grudging respect for each other. They'd found common ground in shared horror, and had discovered they weren't all that different. When Fornell innocently introduced Gibbs to Diane – a witness they were working with on an embezzlement case – he had no idea that Gibbs would become enamored with and eventually marry her. He'd watched as their marriage fell apart a few years later, then stood by as Gibbs met, fell in love with, and married Stephanie before taking her with him to Russia on assignment. It was while Gibbs was away that Fornell had begun to spend time with Gibbs' ex-wife Diane and had eventually fallen in love with her himself. By that time, Gibbs and Fornell had enough of a relationship that it felt almost like infidelity. Fornell had finally broken down and called Gibbs in Moscow. He'd asked Gibbs if it was alright if he married her. The navy cop had actually laughed. He'd warned Fornell away from Diane, going so far as to tell him she'd not only eventually leave him, but she'd take him for everything he had when she did.

When that prediction came true in all its glory, it was Gibbs who Fornell turned to for solace. A shared ex-wife made for some pretty powerful common ground. They compared horror stories and shared enough bourbon to sink a destroyer, and when it was over, they knew it would take an awful lot to break the bond that had been created between them.

Not that his marriage to Diane had been all bad: He had a beautiful daughter he spoiled as often as he could. On that front, he would always be better off than Gibbs. He still had his little girl.

As the father of a lost daughter, it had to be killing Gibbs to know that – however unintentionally – his choices had led to this. And that was the truth of it. By letting her go home, Gibbs had let this happen. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, but it was. Not that Fornell blamed him. He probably would have made the same decisions himself, given the information they had. But he knew Jethro Gibbs well enough to know that this was a wound that would not soon heal.

Fornell went through the same identification process at the NICU that Gibbs had hours before and presented himself to the unit clerk, who gestured him toward the right room. Fornell moved that way and found Sgt. Hamilton sitting in a padded straight chair outside. He had the chair turned sideways so he could lean against the wall, and his legs were kicked out in front of him, crossed at the ankles and blocking the door to the room. His arms were across his chest. His eyes were closed.

"Sgt. Hamilton?" Fornell called as he approached. The Marine's eyes popped open. He was in the process of moving from 'fully relaxed' to 'ready to respond' when he recognized the speaker and settled again.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"Fornell, FBI," he introduced himself.

"I remember," Hamilton said.

"How's Rebecca?" he asked.

"She's stable, breathing better. Daniel's with her. Any news on Amy?"

"Out of surgery, but still critical," Fornell said. Hamilton nodded.

"I need to talk to your brother," Fornell said. "We need to find out what he knows about Rebecca's father."

"She never told him who it was, specifically. But he's got some information. We'll have to go in. He won't leave her alone." Hamilton stood and stretched his arms above his head, then stretched his neck side to side.

"I'm sure they've got a couch around here somewhere," Fornell said. "Might be more comfortable."

Hamilton shook his head. "Danny needs me here," he said. Without explaining further, he pushed through into the anteroom, Fornell following.

"Wash your hands," Hamilton instructed. The men both washed up before moving through into the NICU suite.

Three of the four stations in the room were now occupied: A nurse was working with a baby at the station closest to them, a man in a blue gown was holding another infant and sitting in a rocking chair at the next station. The third was empty, and Daniel was sitting next to the fourth with his back to them. They moved that way, Fornell nodding at both the nurse and the father as they passed.

"Hey Danny. This fed needs to talk to you." Daniel looked around at them. His face was almost blank. Not quite, but almost. Fornell saw a hint of something it took him a moment to identify. Very tightly controlled anger.

"What do you want?" he asked. His voice matched his expression. Flat, but tight. Like he was mentally biting his tongue.

"Danny," Hamilton said, a warning in his low voice.

"We need to talk about Rebecca's father," Fornell said. Daniel looked back at the baby. He had his hand through a porthole in the end of the incubator, wrapped around one of the baby's legs. Her foot and most of her lower leg was covered by his hand. Rebecca was lying still on the mattress, her chest rising and falling in regular, easy rhythm. Her skin was pink and her limbs were slightly stiff, something Fornell knew was actually a good sign.

"She's doing better," Daniel said quietly. "The doctor noticed she seems calmer when someone's touching her. Like she doesn't want to be alone."

Fornell watched the teenager care for the tiny baby and felt his own anger rise. This was so wrong. Amy should be here, sharing this moment, caring for her newborn child.

"It's good that you're here for her," Fornell said. "She needs her family."

Daniel humffed, then glanced around the room. Seeing the nurse at the other station, he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "They find out I'm not her dad, and they're going to kick me out."

"No they're not," Fornell replied, his voice low to match. "No one's going to make you leave. We feds have got some pull in this town."

"But Amy's father…" Daniel began.

"Is currently under arrest for attempted murder," Fornell interrupted. "Whatever power he had is gone."

Daniel looked around at him again. Fornell moved to the other side of the incubator and sat in an empty chair so he could see both the baby inside and Daniel across the top. "Amy and Rebecca need protection. There's a federal agent downstairs watching out for Amy, and you and your brother will be covering Rebecca. No one's going to be able to make you leave."

Daniel considered him. "You can do that?" he asked.

"I just did. You stay here as long as you want to. And when you have to leave, I'll be sure there's an agent on this room 24/7 until everyone who was involved in Amy's assault is in prison."

Daniel's eyes narrowed, and he held Fornell's gaze for half a minute before turning back to the baby.

"Amy snuck out of the house for homecoming last fall," he said, his voice almost resigned. "Her boyfriend invited her, and she knew her father wouldn't let her go. They'd been going out since spring, way before I met her. After the dance, instead of going home, they went to the Mall. The National Mall," he clarified, took a hard breath, and continued. "There was a group of them, two other girls and a bunch of guys. Someone brought a bottle and passed it around. Amy says she only had a little, but it was the first time she'd ever had alcohol."

Daniel stopped again. Fornell waited. When Daniel didn't continue, he glanced up at Hamilton, who was standing behind Daniel's chair. The Marine nodded slightly, telling Fornell to go ahead. "What happened at the Mall, Daniel?"

"She got pregnant. She told me the last thing she remembered was kissing her boyfriend by the Lincoln Memorial, then him waking her up on the grass behind the gift store, like, two hours later. He said she had too much to drink and passed out, but she only remembered having a couple of swallows. They walked around for a little while, to clear her head, and then she went home. They broke up a few weeks later. She found out she was pregnant a couple months after that."

"What was her boyfriend's name?" Fornell asked.

"She wouldn't tell me. Homecoming was before I met her, so I never saw her around school with him or nothing. She said he didn't want a baby, and she wasn't going to let him decide. Then we became friends, and I decided I would take care of her. Of them."

"You don't have any idea who the father might be?" Fornell asked.

"No," Daniel said. He looked up at Fornell. "Why does it matter? He doesn't want Rebecca anyway. I'll be her father. I can take care of her."

"It matters," Fornell said. He skipped over Daniel's claims. It was far too soon to be arguing that point to this kid. "Rebecca deserves to know her history. Her father has to provide support for her, by law. But what's most important here is that Mr. Aziz's lawyer can use the fact that her father didn't want her to confuse the jury. The lawyer might say Amy's boyfriend beat her up to try and get rid of a baby he didn't want."

"But that's not true!" Daniel objected.

"Lawyers like to bring in things that aren't true but might be possible so it makes it harder for the jury to agree beyond a doubt that this guy did it. We need to talk to Rebecca's father so we can prove he had nothing to do with it."

Daniel considered that. "But if you find out who he is, he might come here and say he wants to take her. Or his parents might. She belongs with me."

Fornell looked up at Hamilton, who shook his head. Not yet.

"You're right. He might show up, and he might decide he can take care of Rebecca. That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. But it's more important that we make the people who did this to Amy pay for it. We need to know who he is."

"Well, I don't know," Daniel said. "If I'd known, I'd have made him take care of Amy. But she wouldn't tell me."

"Is there anyone who might know?"

"Maybe she told the girls she eats lunch with. I don't know."

"What about Sadie or Yameen?" Hamilton suggested. "Yameen might have heard talk around school. And even though they were so far apart in age, Amy sometimes shared things with Sadie. Maybe before she got pregnant, while they were still dating, she might have told her little sister about her new boyfriend."

"She might have," Daniel agreed. He was silent for a minute. "Was she raped? Is that why she didn't want to talk about it?"

"Maybe," Fornell agreed. It had immediately crossed his mind on hearing the story. If she wasn't sober enough to remember, she certainly wasn't sober enough to consent.

"Why didn't she tell anyone? Her father wouldn't have been so mad at her if she didn't do it on purpose," Daniel said.

"It would have been just as bad, and it probably would have gotten her killed sooner," Hamilton spoke up. "Where Amy's from it doesn't matter if the woman consented or not. She had sex with a man outside of marriage, and that's all that matters. The penalty is still death."

"I hate Muslims," Daniel said fervently. Fornell was about to correct him when he remembered Daniel had more reason than the average American to hate, and took a different tact.

"Amy is Muslim," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but she's different."

"Why?" Fornell challenged.

"Cuz she doesn't hate us," he said.

"Most Muslims don't," Fornell said. "Most Muslims are peaceful people who just want to live and let live."

"Right," Daniel said with derision clear in his voice.

"You know the KKK?" Fornell asked. Across the incubator, Hamilton frowned.

"Hello? I'm black," Daniel said, and for a second Fornell saw the 17-year-old return.

"They're Christians," Fornell said.

"No they're not," Daniel argued.

"Sure they are," Fornell countered. "They read the same Bible and believe in the same God we do. They go to church, they pray, they do good works in their communities. Just like good Christians should. They just happen to believe blacks are a species slightly less than human. You wouldn't want people judging all of Christendom by the acts of those whackos, would you?"

Hamilton frowned at him. "I never thought of it that way before."

"Most people don't," Fornell said. "Most people judge all Muslims by what they see the fundamentalist crazies doing on the six o'clock news. But al-Qaeda is only a tiny fraction of the total number of Muslims in the world."

"If they're so small, why do they have so much power?" Daniel asked.

"They don't," Fornell said. "It just seems like they do."

"They looked pretty powerful when they killed my family," Daniel said bitterly.

"Yes, they did," the fed granted. "And there's not a single federal agent out there that doesn't wish we'd put that together a day or two sooner. For what it's worth, we live with that shame every day."

Daniel shrugged, like it didn't matter. After a moment, Fornell continued. "But think about it: Before that morning, how many times had they succeeded?"

"The Cole," Daniel said immediately. "My dad lost a good friend on that ship."

"How many did they kill?" Fornell asked. Daniel looked over his shoulder at his brother.

"Seventeen sailors dead, 39 injured," Hamilton reeled off.

"That's right. But they were trying to sink the ship and kill everyone on board. So in the big picture, it was a failure."

"What about the Marine Barracks in Beruit?" Hamilton said. "They killed 220 Marines and a couple dozen other American Servicemen."

"True. And it was a tragedy. But how many times did they try before they succeeded?" Fornell asked.

"Many," Hamilton admitted.

"That's right. Almost every time they've tried to launch some big plan to destroy the 'Great Satan,' they've failed."

"Why do they want to kill us?" Daniel asked. "What did we do to them?"

Fornell figured the kid had probably asked that a thousand times since 9/11, but his own two cents couldn't hurt.

"Al Qaeda wants to kill us because we're living proof that there's another way. They think their brand of religion is the only way, and anyone who doesn't live that way is going straight to hell. They think America's success is the devil's work, that we're going to drag the rest of the world down with us. They see it as their god-given responsibility to save the world by destroying us."

Daniel thought about that for a long moment. He moved his hand from the baby's leg to run his fingertips up and down her nearest arm.

"Amy told me that 'jihad' doesn't mean what everyone thinks it does," he said finally.

"It doesn't," Fornell agreed. "Did she tell you what it did mean?"

"Struggle," he said. "It's the struggle to do well in life, to overcome your weakness, and live according to the will of God. Or Allah."

"That's right," Fornell said. "Again, it's the extremists that hijacked the word and made us all think jihad refers to acts of terrorism."

"I hate them," Daniel said again. "Maybe not all of them, but definitely the extremists."

"We all hate the extremists, kid. But I admit you've got more reason than most."

Silence again. Fornell wondered if Daniel was done, or if there was more.

"Talk to the guys on the soccer team," Daniel said, and Fornell frowned, not understanding.

"Amy used to go to a lot of soccer games," he continued. "She stopped earlier this year. Maybe her old boyfriend's on the soccer team."

A light dawned. Soccer, not football.

"That's good information, Daniel. Thanks."

"Can you leave us alone now?" he asked.

"Sure," Fornell said, and stood. "Take my number," he said to Hamilton and handed him a card. "If you need to leave, call me and I'll arrange for a guard for Rebecca."

"Thank you," Hamilton said.

"Agent Fornell?" Daniel called as Fornell started away. He turned back.

"Tell Agent Gibbs I'm sorry I hurt him. I was just really mad about what happened."

"He knows."

"It wasn't really his fault," Daniel said. "Tell him I know that."

"He knows it too," Fornell said. "Doesn't take the anger away, though. For you, him or for any of us."

"What does?" Daniel asked. His expression showed he was really hoping for an answer.

"Nothing, really. Passing time helps. Sometimes, when we do our best to make the bastards pay for what they've done, there's a feeling of satisfaction that can make it better. But the anger never goes away. You either learn to live with it, or it destroys you."

Daniel nodded. "How long does that take? To learn to live with it?"

Fornell shrugged. "I don't know. Some days, I'm not sure I've figured it out yet. I'll be in touch." He left the NICU.

Fornell had heard the comparison between al Qaeda and the Ku Klux Klan soon after 9/11. It had made such sense at the time that it had stayed with him. As a career federal agent, he'd sat through enough cultural and religious sensitivity training sessions to earn a PhD in the subject. But somehow on the morning the towers fell, it wasn't so easy to remember that not all Muslims were evil. Washington D.C. – and the rest of America – had been thrown into such chaos that it was hard to separate good from evil for a while. Many in law enforcement had never managed it. Especially not those who'd been there, or those who'd felt responsible for making the mistakes that lead to the terror.

Fornell knew many in his field who would be perfectly happy if every Middle Eastern male over the age of 12 was locked up forever. He didn't share that sentiment, but he'd seen it reflected in the faces around him for years after that unbelievable day.

It was getting better. Al Queada hadn't followed up like they'd all expected them to, which helped. So did the passage of time. Already, there were kids in middle school who considered the events of September 11th to be just another entry in the history books. His own Emily hadn't even been born at the time, and she would soon be a teenager.

"Life," Fornell said aloud. It just kept going, until it stopped.

* * *

...to be continued...


	26. Chapter 26 - Developing Leads

A bit of a transitionary chapter, with some important new information. The action picks up again soon. And again, thank you to all who take the time to review. I am honored. joy

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-six: Developing Leads**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

As he left the hospital, Fornell's thoughts once again turned to Gibbs. What he'd told Daniel had been true: Gibbs knew it wasn't his fault, but the anger remained. Fornell honestly wasn't sure how his friend was going to react to the news that Amy had been raped, even it was just technically so. It was one more cruelty heaped on this little girl who only wanted freedom in America. And it was just going to add to the anger Gibbs was already almost drowning in.

Gibbs' control was razor thin on this one. A person only needed to look at the damage he'd let the kid do to his face to know that. Though Gibbs was always a professional, Fornell wasn't sure the old Marine was going to be able to keep his head in the game when he heard about this.

Fornell was even more concerned about Gibbs' habit of turning his emotion on himself. There was an element of Jethro Gibbs that reveled in self-flagellation. It's why he'd kept marrying women who reminded him physically of his first lost love. Though thankfully that seemed to have stopped, his pattern of torturing himself when he thought he'd screwed up had not.

Fornell got into his car. He needed to tell Gibbs what he'd learned. At least the part about who Amy's ex-boyfriend might be. He made the call as he started away.

"It was soccer, not football," were his first words. There was silence from the other end. Fornell acknowledged that even the great Jethro Gibbs might have trouble with that non sequitur and gave him a little more.

"In the rest of the world, including Afghanistan, they call soccer football," he said.

"Rebecca's father," Gibbs said after only a moment. "Sadie said football, but she meant soccer."

"That's Daniel's guess. He's not sure, but he thinks she was going out with someone on the team."

"He know anything else?"

"No. He says he never met the guy, she never talked about him." Fornell hesitated. Gibbs caught it.

"What?" he asked.

Fornell quickly made a decision. "Nothing. Just thinking: Sadie told us Amy was still talking to her boyfriend, but that she didn't like him as much anymore, and he made her cry. But Daniel says she never talked about him. Was she really that good at hiding, that someone she'd been hanging around so much with wouldn't even know she was in contact with a former boyfriend?"

There was another pause. Fornell wondered if Gibbs would sense he was holding back. "She was almost seven months' pregnant and the people who lived with her didn't even know it. Hiding phone calls to an ex would have been easy."

"Probably," Fornell said. "You need anything?"

"No."

"Alright. I'll check back later." Fornell clicked off. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep Gibbs in the dark, and he figured Gibbs would be plenty pissed at him when it did come out. But for now, it was more important to prevent – or at least delay – Gibbs' self-destruction. Fornell had plenty of investigative skill, but he knew Gibbs had more. It was going to take both of them to make these skells pay. He needed his friend to stay with it as long as possible. Which led him to another thought: It was way past lunch time. Whether he liked it or not, Gibbs needed to eat. They all did.

Fornell called the hospital again. He asked to speak to the nursing station outside Amy's room, then asked if the clerk could arrange for a meal to be brought up to Gibbs. It took a little work, and a little charm, but the young lady finally agreed to make it happen. A second call got him the same result for Hamilton and Daniel in the NICU. That done, he grabbed take outs and headed for the Navy Yard. He had his own people he could draw on, but Gibbs' team was already in the loop. With their leader in self-imposed exile at the hospital, Fornell figured he might as well fill in.

**26-26-26-26-26**

McGee was frustrated. He'd been working his machines for hours with almost nothing to show for it. This was his forte, the unique skill he brought to the team. Of the four of them – six if you counted Abby and Ducky – he was the only one who truly understood cyberspace and knew how to access its secrets. Abby was good, but McGee was so much better. Gibbs counted on him to find information no one else could. But this time, he was almost ready to admit defeat.

Hannah 'Minal' Aziz was an enigma. Other than her record of marriage and her current passport – issued only a month before the family came to America – there were no public mentions of the lady anywhere. It was driving him nuts.

He'd managed to access the classified background on Liban Aziz. It had noted a couple of run-ins with the local militias, but nothing more sinister. However, one sentence in the conclusion of the report had piqued McGee's curiosity: 'Due to aforementioned circumstance, approval of application recommended forthwith.' But there'd been no 'circumstance' mentioned. The report had obviously been edited. Not at all unusual with classified reports. But editing was usually done in order to declassify a report, leaving the classified version intact. Meaning one of two things was true: Either this was the declassified version and someone had forgotten to change the security coding, or the 'circumstance' had been so sensitive, they'd removed it altogether. Judging by the total lack of information available about Mrs. Aziz, McGee was guessing the latter. But what could possibly be so sensitive about a University teacher, or his wife, that would require that kind of censorship, yet not prevent him from becoming a civilian contractor for the Navy in America? That, McGee could not figure out. And that was the frustrating thing, the thing that was making McGee begin to doubt his own skill.

Fornell had returned from the hospital a few hours before with news that Gibbs was going to stay with Amy for the foreseeable future and shouldn't be bothered unless something big came up. That had set off McGee's internal alarms: Gibbs alone with Amy, no resolution to the case, no relief for his anger. He'd asked Fornell if that was a good idea, Gibbs being alone. Fornell'd reminded him babysitting Gibbs was actually not in his job description. And besides, hadn't Gibbs given him an assignment? He'd given the younger man the new information about Amy's former boyfriend, updated him on both Amy and Rebecca's conditions, then told him call if he found anything significant.

So despite his misgivings, McGee had stayed with it. He'd added Gibbs' idea that the Aziz family connection to the former Secretary of the Navy was Missus and not Mister to his search algorithm. It hadn't helped. He simply could not find anything that told him where Amy's mother had come from.

The only success he had managed was background information on the Imam at Amy's family's mosque. He had the man's full history, from his birth in Saudi Arabia to his current position in Washington. The only useful information he'd found was an outstanding misdemeanor warrant in New York. It wasn't much, but they might be able to use it to bring him in for a chat. At least McGee would have something to tell Gibbs, if he called.

"How's it going, McGee?" came a voice from the back of the room. McGee looked up to see Abby coming into the bullpen. She had changed out of her coveralls and was wearing baggy black jeans and a tight black long-sleeved shirt with a line of small white bats ringing the neckline and cuffs. A studded belt held up the jeans, a studded collar circled her neck, and she had engineer boots on her feet. The look was actually mellow for her.

"Not good," McGee admitted. "I still can't find anything on Amy's mother."

"What do you know?" Abby asked. She pulled Tony's chair over next to McGee's desk.

"They were married in Kandahar the same year it fell to the Taliban. The marriage certificate and her passport say her name is Hannah Aziz, no maiden name, no middle name. She was 18 when she married. She says her name is Minal, which Ziva says means 'gift.' That's all I know. In the speculation department, it's possible she's at least part Caucasian, and it's possible she has some connection to former Secretary of the Navy Davenport."

"Why does Gibbs want to know about her?" Abby asked.

McGee shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's just a loose end, and you know how much he hates those."

"I do know. Have you tried turning it over?"

"Turning what over?" McGee asked.

"If you're looking for her connection to Davenport, and can't find anything about her, try looking at it from his side."

McGee frowned at her, and Abby sighed. "His history is very well documented. See what his connection to her might be, instead of the other way around."

"Abby, he was the Secretary of the Navy. A powerful guy. He probably met hundreds of people every month. How am I supposed to find a specific moment when he might have met a Muslim woman with no past?"

"Well, silly, you might start with the fall of Kandahar. Secretary Davenport was on the ground with the third Marine Division that year. Might just be a coincidence, I mean, lots of guys were there. But he was there, and she was there. Maybe they met."

"That's a stretch," McGee said skeptically.

"I know. But it's a place to start. Track him, and you might find the connection to her." Abby stood. "You want food? I'm going out. Gotta clear my head a bit." McGee looked at the clock, surprise to note it was almost dinner time. He'd completely missed lunch.

"That'd be good," McGee said. "You want me to come with?"

"Nah. Keep working on it. I'll bring you back something."

**26-26-26-26-26**

Outside the Mosque, David and DiNozzo alternated taking pictures of the men who came and went. They were mostly quiet, neither one fully comfortable with what they were doing. But they both acknowledged it was technically legal, and the best way to identify potential suspects.

After the noon prayers, they took a meal break, returning in plenty of time for the early evening session. They had gotten an occasional odd look as the men left after noon, and far more when afternoon turned to evening and they were again parked across the street. They figured it wouldn't be long before someone came around asking what they were up to. As the call to prayer began once more, their guess was proven right: a Metro PD unit rolled up. The feds waited until one of the two officers who got out approached and asked for identification before flashing their badges. A brief conversation ensued in which the officers agreed to merely inform whoever had called 9-1-1 that there was no danger, and leave it at that. Nonetheless, DiNozzo and David knew their effectiveness had been significantly reduced.

When the next prayer session let out, the men and a few families left quickly, many taking pains to hide their faces from the vehicle across the street. When the crowd thinned to a trickle, the pair decided they'd been there long enough and headed back to the Navy Yard.

There, they found McGee still working on his computers, the remains of fast food scattered around him.

"You find anything yet?" DiNozzo asked. He shook his mouse to wake up his own computer.

"Some leads, but nothing definitive," McGee replied. He rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair to stretch. "You?"

"For an American capitol, there are a hell of a lot of Middle Eastern men around here," DiNozzo said.

"You get good pictures?" McGee asked.

"We got more than enough to keep the servers spinning all night with the photo comparison," David supplied. She flopped down in her chair.

"Where's Gibbs?" DiNozzo asked. He removed the photo card from his camera and slid it into the computer.

"He called about an hour ago. He's at the hospital with Amy," McGee answered. DiNozzo looked at him sharply.

"Still?" he asked. "Alone?"

"Fornell was there earlier. He said Gibbs is fine."

"And you believed him?" DiNozzo asked. Ziva looked at the men curiously.

"Why would he not be fine?" she asked.

"Besides, Gibbs told me to work on this," McGee said without answering Ziva's question. "I can't do that from there."

"Gibbs say how long he plans to stay?"

"No. Just asked how the search was going, asked if you'd come back yet."

"He sound okay?"

"Why would he not be okay?" Ziva asked again.

"He sounded tired. But that's all," McGee answered DiNozzo.

"Hey!" Ziva said, and both of her partners looked her way. "What is wrong with Gibbs?"

The men had a short, silent conversation, and DiNozzo took it.

"You know how... intense... he's been about this," he said.

"Yes. He gets angry when children are hurt," Ziva said.

"Right. But it's more than that," DiNozzo said. "Bad things happen when he doesn't have a suspect to chase. Especially with a living victim. His energy builds up, and when it's got nowhere to go, it can explode, and then people get hurt." DiNozzo nodded to himself. That was good.

Ziva frowned. "You are not saying he is dangerous," she asked.

"Mostly just to himself," DiNozzo said. He thought for a second. "I'm going down there. Ziva, run the photos. Call me if anything comes up."

"Fornell said he was fine," McGee insisted.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to see that for myself, McTrusty."

**26-26-26-26-26**

DiNozzo started with Rebecca. He went through the identification procedure and was admitted to the NICU, where he was told the baby had been moved to a private room. When he asked why, he was told that with the security concerns surrounding the baby and her mother, the hospital had decided it was better that way. Then he was quietly told the real reason: The constant presence of the Marine and his brother had been making the other mothers nervous. Fair enough, DiNozzo replied, and went down the hall.

The new room was a maternal care room, with a regular bed and extra space for the incubator and all its equipment. When DiNozzo poked his head in, he found the lights were dimmed. Hamilton was asleep on the bed, still wearing his boots. Daniel was also asleep in an easy chair next to the incubator, his hand inside the small box. There was a blanket covering the incubator on all sides, but DiNozzo could see the monitors and the screen of the ventilator. Everything looked good to his eye. As he watched, Hamilton turned his head to see who had come in. DiNozzo raised a hand in silent greeting, and Hamilton nodded slightly before closing his eyes again. DiNozzo left, letting the door close silently behind him.

Down in the ICU, DiNozzo flashed his badge at the desk clerk, but was refused admittance until the clerk called into Amy's room to clear it with Gibbs. After washing up, DiNozzo stepped through the curtain. Gibbs was still sitting in a chair next to the bed, his hand resting on Amy's elbow.

"Hey Boss," DiNozzo said softly. Gibbs nodded but said nothing.

"How is she?" DiNozzo asked. He stood away from the bed and didn't put on gloves.

"Holding her own," Gibbs answered. His voice was rough, like he hadn't spoken much recently. DiNozzo glanced around the room. Like Rebecca's, the readings on Amy's monitors seemed to be pretty normal, except for the ventilator still breathing for her. On a side counter behind Gibbs, DiNozzo noticed an untouched tray of food.

"You eaten lately?" he asked Gibbs.

"No."

"You hungry?"

"No."

"How 'bout some coffee?" he offered. To DiNozzo's surprise, Gibbs shook his head. It was worse than DiNozzo thought. He stood for a minute, watching Gibbs watch Amy.

"Why are you here?" Gibbs asked finally.

"Got an update," DiNozzo said. When Gibbs didn't ask, he went on anyway. "We got pictures of about 50 men at the Mosque before they made us and started hiding their faces. Ziva's running the comparison scans. McGee's still hunting down Amy's mother's history. He said he's got some leads, but nothing definitive. He got a full background on the Imam, nothing really useful except a misdemeanor warrant out of New York for disturbing the peace at a Ground Zero Mosque demonstration. Might be able to use it to bring him in."

There was no obvious response from Gibbs. DiNozzo continued.

"Abby found 62 biological samples. She says she's got nine that are different blood types than Amy's, so at least that many will be good for ID. She submitted all of them for DNA typing. The MPs are still at Amy's house, they're committed until 1500 tomorrow, then their CO wants an update." DiNozzo paused, mentally checking if there was anything else.

"Aziz is still in holding. We've got until Monday midnight before 'til we have to charge him or let him go."

Gibbs nodded again. DiNozzo waited, but there was nothing.

"Did you hear they moved Rebecca to a private room?" he asked, trying to get the older man talking. Gibbs merely shook his head.

"Apparently Hamilton was making the other mothers nervous. He and Daniel are still up there."

Gibbs finally looked over at him. "Why are you here?" he said again. DiNozzo decided to bite the bullet.

"I'm here to relieve you, Boss," he said simply.

Gibbs blinked at him. DiNozzo held his gaze.

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"It's almost eight o'clock," DiNozzo said. "You've been here since before lunch. You didn't sleep much last night, and you've had a hell of a day. By tomorrow, one of us is going to have a suspect or two to run down, and you're going to want to work it." Gibbs stared at him.

"Go home, get some sleep. I'll stay with her."

For a very long moment, Gibbs stared, and DiNozzo tried not to squirm. What he was doing was tantamount to tugging on Superman's cape. Really hard. He knew it could cost him, but it had to be said.

"You bring your car?" Gibbs asked suddenly.

"Charger," DiNozzo said, confused but hopeful.

"Give me the keys," Gibbs said. He stripped off his gloves and stood. DiNozzo handed them over, relieved Gibbs had blinked first. "It's parked by the ER."

Gibbs nodded. "Don't leave her alone," he said.

"I won't," DiNozzo said.

"Call me if anything changes."

"I will."

"Try to sleep some. Tomorrow's a workday," Gibbs said.

"Understood," DiNozzo replied.

With a final look at the monitors over Amy's bed but no more words, Gibbs left. Tony put on a pair of gloves and took Gibbs' chair.

"Well, kiddo, looks like it's just you and me for a while," he said softly to Amy. There was no reaction from the injured girl.

**26-26-26-26-26**

Gibbs went up to the NICU. He was pointed to Rebecca's new room, where he found things just as DiNozzo had left them. He waited in the doorway to see if Hamilton had heard the door open or would otherwise sense his arrival. Less than a minute passed before the Marine opened his eyes. Gibbs motioned him out into the hall and Hamilton quietly rolled off the bed.

"You alright?" he asked when the hall door was closed behind them.

"Fine," Hamilton said. "Danny's been sleeping off and on. The nurse comes in a couple times an hour and he wakes up."

"You too," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, but I'm used to it. Sleeping in my boots and all."

Gibbs nodded, remembering the days of 24-hour watches. "I'm going home. Anything you need?"

"How's Amy?" hamilton asked.

"No change," Gibbs said. "How's Rebecca?"

"Improving. She's breathing better. Doctor says he's pleased."

"Good. When're you next on duty?"

"S'posed to be Monday. I already called my CO, told her I'd have to play it by ear."

"Call me if you need relief. I'll arrange something."

"Will do."

"Have you eaten?" Gibbs asked, thinking about his own lack of food today.

"Yeah. The nurses brought us lunch and dinner."

Gibbs nodded, satisfied. "See you in the morning." He turned away and Hamilton went back into the room.

Gibbs left the hospital and climbed into the sedan DiNozzo had driven to the hospital. He stuck the keys in the ignition, but didn't start the motor. He honestly wasn't sure where to go, and that disturbed him more than he cared to admit even to himself. It was very unusual for him to be in the middle of an investigation and have no direction. Not that the case wasn't being worked: DiNozzo's rundown had shown him that much. But there was nothing he was personally supposed to be doing.

He knew DiNozzo was right. He needed to sleep. He also knew that with his mind swimming with thoughts and images of this case, sleep would be a long time coming. And he wasn't looking forward to spending time in his own head while it did. As a matter of fact, Gibbs wanted to spend as little time with his own thoughts as possible. At least until his team made their next move. His anger was being fueled by an element of self-loathing that haunted him despite everyone's assurance that it was groundless. He just couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for Amy's condition.

So, what now? There was nothing for him to do at the Navy Yard. No one there to take him out of his head. He could track down Fornell and try to find out what he'd been hiding when they talked earlier. But he wasn't sure he wanted to know, tonight.

Gibbs had a sudden desire to be surrounded by strangers. Eavesdropping on someone else's troubles – the non-life-and-death kind – might be just the ticket to give his thoughts a rest. Especially if he threw in a little bourbon. Or a lot.

He started the Charger and headed off the hospital campus on New Hampshire Avenue. Half a mile beyond that, he rounded Dupont Circle and chose 19th Street. At the Hilton, he turned right down Florida Ave and continued right on U Street. A quarter mile later, he pulled into the parking lot behind a green and white building across the street from DCFD Station 9. It had been a long time since he'd been here, but he didn't figure much had changed. It was that kind of place. He locked up the car and started toward the entrance. On second thought, he went back and popped the trunk, removed his holstered sidearm from his belt, and laid it in the lock box bolted to the frame. On a whim, he added his cell phone. Better. He headed inside.

* * *

...to be continued...


	27. Chapter 27 - A Temporary Escape

A/N: This is the longest chapter yet. To those who are annoyed by the big chunks, sorry. I wanted to get this piece of the story all out at once. To the rest of you, sit back and enjoy...

I continue to be grateful for the comments and reviews. Special thanks to Karlii, who did what I hoped you would. It's a cool place.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-seven: A Temporary Escape**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_Gibbs had a sudden desire to be surrounded by strangers. Eavesdropping on someone else's troubles -– the non-life-and-death kind -– might be just the ticket to give his thoughts a rest. Especially if he threw in a little bourbon. Or a lot._

_Starting the Charger, Gibbs traveled across the District to a bar he used to frequent. It had been a long time he'd been there, but he didn't figure much had changed. It was that kind of place. Parking in the half-full lot, he locked up the car and started toward the entrance. On second thought, he went back and popped the trunk, removed his holstered sidearm from his belt, and laid it in the lock box bolted to the frame. On a whim, he added his cell phone. Better. He headed inside._

The bar was a DC landmark. It had been there since before prohibition, and rumor had it there was still old bootleg buried beneath the cement of the outdoor patio. It was a law enforcement hangout, though more often for the locals than the feds. Most importantly, it was Gibbs' kind of place: dark, old, forgiving.

Tonight the place was busy, but not packed. Enough people to get lost in the crowd, not enough to be uncomfortable. He scanned the open area, saw no one he knew, and took a seat at the dark end of the bar.

It took only a minute for the bartender to notice him and slide over. She was older than average these days, blond hair going gray. Her face was lined, but she was smiling.

"Wow, what'd the other guy look like?" she asked with a bit of a Boston twang.

"Bourbon, neat," he said, ignoring her inquiry about the condition of his face.

"We've got a new bottle of Jim Beam Devil's Cut. You look like you could use it."

"Fine," Gibbs said. The Devil's Cut was a little stronger than the original white, and Gibbs figured she was right: He could use it.

"Coming up," she said, and turned away. She pulled a bottle out of the rack and grabbed a tumbler from under the bar. After working the top off, she poured a generous splash into the glass, racked the bottle and presented the drink to him on a cocktail napkin.

"Run a tab?" she asked. Gibbs nodded and pulled out his credit card. He wasn't sure how long he would be here, but he was certain he was going to need more than one of these. She took the card down the bar and swiped it. Gibbs sipped at the bourbon. It was good.

"I'm Sandy, I'm on 'til close. You need a menu, LJ?" the bartender asked when she returned with his card. He frowned, then realized his credit card had only his initials on it.

"It's Jethro, and no," Gibbs said and took the card back. She slid over a bowl of pretzel sticks instead.

"Jethro, huh?" she asked skeptically.

"That's the name they gave me," Gibbs said and took a handful of pretzels.

"Well, when you're ready for a refill, Jethro, you lemme know," Sandy said and left him alone. Gibbs looked up at the TV above the bar mirror. Baseball. An early evening game from the west coast, just getting started. That'd do.

The sounds of the crowd filled the space behind him. He sipped at his drink and checked out the people reflected in the mirror. A couple of guys watching the game further down the bar, several groups at pool tables in the back, a girl and two guys playing darts, the guys obviously trying to show one another up in efforts to impress the girl. There were two couples on the small dance floor, moving to country music from a juke box in the corner. The music wasn't loud. He could hear a few specific conversations, and as he drank and snacked, he casually listened, letting his mind fill.

When his first drink was gone, he signaled Sandy for a refill. She complied, and added a bowl of goldfish crackers to his snack choices. He glanced at the bowl. Kelly used to love those little fishes. He pushed it away and reached for more pretzels.

His third round arrived less than 45 minutes after he sat down. Gibbs was feeling pleasantly loose now. The Devil's Cut was... what was it? Eighty? No, ninety proof. Just what the doctor ordered.

The home team was losing – figured – and the action in the bar was beginning to pick up when Gibbs signaled for a fourth. Sandy slid over to him and took his glass, examining him.

"I can get you another, but I gotta have your keys," she said.

"What?" Gibbs asked. His already narrowed vision was slightly blurry, and he squinted at her.

"Three drinks in under an hour. You don't look drunk yet, but you're working your way up to a bender. If you're having another, I need your keys. We'll call you a cab when you're ready to go home."

"Don't wanna go home," Gibbs said.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when it floats on by. C'mon sailor, keys or coffee. What's your choice?"

"Marine," Gibbs mumbled, and groped for his pocket. She was right. He wasn't drunk yet, but he was certainly getting there.

"'Scuse me?" Sandy asked.

"Marine, not sailor," he said.

"Sorry, Marine. You're not exactly in uniform." She held out her hand. "Give."

He pulled out the keys DiNozzo had given him, considering them. His personal keys were in his desk at the office. This set had an agency key fob with the Charger's vehicle number stamped on the back, the door remote, engine key, lock box key. He held up that one.

"Needa keep this one," he said. Sandy nodded and wiggled her fingers at him. He handed them over and she deftly worked the small brass key off the ring, handing it back. He pocketed it.

"Another round, coming up," she said. She turned away from him, moving to where a board covered with small hooks was mounted on the back wall out of reach of the customers. About a third of the hooks had keys hanging from them. She added his to the collection, then poured him another drink.

After his fourth, Gibbs slowed down a little. But not much. Over the next several hours as the quantity of alcohol in the bottle continued to drop, he slowly slipped further and further into oblivion. He was sitting at the last stool at the end of the bar, hunched over his glass and the pretzel bowl. An aura of 'leave me alone' that everyone in the place could sense had grown thicker as the hour grew later. Which translated into the stool to his left staying empty despite the crowd. The voices, the music, pool balls clacking, shouts of triumph and failure from dart players, and the ballgame announcer blended together with the smells of alcohol and fast food, sending his brain to a numb place that was as close to perfect as Gibbs could get. For a while, he kept track of the number of drinks he'd consumed. Eventually, his ability to do simple math left him and he threw caution to the wind: Sandy looked honest enough. She kept drifting by in response to his hails, refilling the snack bowl, and occasionally re-offering the menu. He always declined.

It was past midnight and the ballgame was over when a heated discussion at the end of the bar intruded on Gibbs' pleasant buzz. He turned that way and tried to focus. A big, beefy guy, maybe 25 years old, was standing at the opening to the bar back about eight feet to Gibbs' right, trying to get through. Sandy was blocking his way. She was making herself as large as she could, her head up and shoulders back, defending her territory. The guy had obviously had a few more drinks than he could handle.

Gibbs watched as they argued it out and their voices began to rise. The guy was getting in Sandy's face and growing more agitated. Another half minute and Gibbs could make out what they were arguing about: The guy wanted his keys, and the bartender wasn't going to let the drunk man have them.

A minute after that and the temperature of the conversation got a little too hot for Gibbs' taste.

"Hey!" he called out sharply. The guy turned to look at him. "Noggidoff," Gibbs said. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted how slurred his speech was and figured it was probably time to stop drinking. But it was far back there.

"Stay out of it, old man," the guy said.

Old man? Gibbs thought. He did not just say that. Gibbs got unsteadily to his feet, holding the edge of the bar for balance. He was in no particular hurry to intervene: Sandy looked like she was holding her own, and Gibbs wasn't at all sure he could take McGee's sister in his condition. Still, he couldn't just sit here.

Turning back to the bartender, the guy resumed his demands. Others in the bar had begun to look their way. No one else appeared ready to get involved. The guy pushed closer until he was almost chest-to-chest with Sandy, loudly demanding his keys and actively trying to side-step her. As Gibbs watched, the guy finally reached out and shoved at her. Sandy took a stagger-step backwards and almost went down.

"Tha's enough!" Gibbs said and stepped toward the guy. The bigger man turned, saw Gibbs approaching, and swung a fist wildly in Gibbs' direction. Gibbs put up his left arm to deflect the punch. With a grunt, the guy followed through with his left, clipping Gibbs on the shoulder. The punch wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it pissed him off. He'd been really enjoying his night, and this guy was totally ruining it. Not acceptable.

Gibbs turned slightly away and smacked the guy hard in the side of the head with the flat of his right elbow. The guy's head snapped sideways and he dropped like a bag of rocks. Unfortunately, Gibbs' momentum carried him around and his feet tangled with the guy's falling body. He felt his head smack against the edge of the bar as he went down. He saw stars, and his vision blacked over.

The next thing he knew, several customers were putting him back on the stool. Gibbs held on to the bar rail with both hands and tried not to fall over.

Sandy approached him. "Thanks," she said. The customers drifted back into the crowd. "You alright?"

"Uh huh," Gibbs said, though he wasn't actually sure he was. His ears were ringing a bit, loud in the suddenly quiet bar. He looked around and realized most everyone in the place was staring at him. He glanced down to where the other guy was still lying on the floor, unmoving. He watched the guy's chest rise and fall, then turned back to Sandy.

"Betta getim' a medic," he said, enunciating as carefully as he could.

"They're on the way. Police, too. You sure you're okay? You hit your head pretty hard."

Gibbs raised a hand and felt at his skull. No blood, no broken skin. But he could feel a tender spot just ahead of his left temple up under his hairline. Just what he needed: more bruises. Thankfully, the anesthesia effect of the bourbon meant it didn't hurt. Yet. Speaking of which... he picked up his glass. Sandy put a hand on his arm.

"Metro PD's gonna want to talk to you. You might want to hold off on that."

"Resta'dis ain't gonna mak'a diff'ence," Gibbs said, and downed the last of it. "L'take s'm coffee, tho," he added.

"Coming up," she said. She stepped around the unconscious man and returned to her place behind the bar. Gibbs turned back toward the room to keep an eye on the guy. He was breathing deeply, probably more passed out than anything. Around him, the bar patrons returned to their own business. Gibbs noticed quite a few hurriedly exiting. Getting out before the cops showed up, he figured. For a second, he considered making a run for it himself. He really didn't want to get into it with the locals tonight. But the way he was feeling, he'd probably end up on his ass. Which made him smile, sort of.

The bartender returned with a mug of coffee and an ice pack. "For your head," she said as she handed the pack to him. Gibbs held the pack with one hand and took a sip of coffee with the other. Sandy considered him.

"What's funny?" she asked. Gibbs must have been smiling more than he realized. He shook his head and tried to school his features. Not being able to feel much of his face, it wasn't as easy as it should have been.

Less than five minutes later, two D.C. Metro patrol officers came in, looking around warily. Gibbs raised an arm, catching their attention through the thinner but still present crowd, and gestured to the guy on the floor. They came over. One of them said something into the radio mike hooked to his shoulder epaulet as they approached. Calling code four, Gibbs figured.

"What happened here?" one of the officers asked Gibbs as the other crouched to feel at the unconscious man's neck.

Sandy came back and Gibbs pointed that way. "Ashk her," he said.

"Hey Chris, good to see you," Sandy said. She obviously knew at least one of the officers. Not surprising, considering the bar's normal clientele.

"Hi Sandy. What's the situation?" Officer Chris asked.

"Guy on the floor decided he wanted to drive home. I decided that wasn't a good idea. He tried to play the big man and force the situation. Jethro here," she pointed to Gibbs, "decided chivalry wasn't dead after all and stepped in. Big man throws a punch, Jethro responds in kind, big man hits the floor, down for the count. One punch on each side. No biggie."

"So how'd he get so hurt?" Chris asked her, also indicating Gibbs.

"He looked like that when he got here. He just bumped his head when he tripped over this guy." She looked at Gibbs, then put a hand around her mouth and whispered theatrically: "He's had a little bit to drink, too. But he's okay."

A pair of DCFD medics approached. They split off, one to each obviously injured man.

"Mm fine," Gibbs said, waving off the man who reached to examine him.

"You don't look fine," the medic said.

"He's just got a bump on the head, Alex," Sandy repeated. She knew him, too. "The rest of it was from before he got here. You really ought to check that guy first."

Alex looked skeptical, but joined his partner on the floor.

"You know these guys, Sandy?" Chris asked of Gibbs and the fallen man.

"Nope. Guy on the floor's been in a couple times. Name's… Rick, I think. This is Jethro. Haven't had the pleasure before tonight."

"I'm gonna need to see some ID," Chris said. Gibbs nodded, set the ice pack on the bartop, and reached for his wallet. His fingers brushed his badge folder and he pulled that out instead. Might save him some grief. Unless these guy had something against feds. In D.C., it was about fifty-fifty, but he was feeling lucky. He opened the folder, fumbling only a little.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Chris read. "You don't look like a sailor."

"Marine," Sandy said helpfully.

"Fed," said the other officer, who left the fallen man in the hands of the medics. "He's a Navy cop. And the guy he sucker punched is a Maryland State Trooper." He held up a badge wallet he'd obviously picked from the guy's pocket.

Gibbs sighed. So much for luck. He pressed the ice to his head again.

"Where's your gun, Agent Gibbs?" Chris asked.

"S'cure... imy... car," Gibbs said carefully.

"Good place for it," the other said. "You're going to have to come with us. At least until this guy wakes up enough to tell us his side of the story."

"I just told you his side," Sandy objected. "Rick was being an ass. What more do you need to know? C'mon, guys, Jethro was doing a good deed."

"Fighting's against the law in this town," Chris's partner said. "So's being drunk in public. Once they both sober up, if the story holds, he can go home."

"Doan wanna g'home," Gibbs mumbled. He didn't want to spend the night in jail, either. But given the choice between the two, jail would at least keep him from being alone.

"Good, cuz you're not going home," the second officer said. He took hold of Gibbs' arm. Gibbs sighed. So this was how it was going to be?

"Where're you taking him?" a familiar voice entered the conversation from somewhere to Gibbs' left. Gibbs turned to look that way and suddenly grinned. The Cavalry was here.

"F'rnell! What'a you doin here? Buy'ya'a drink?"

"Shut up, Gibbs." The FBI man produced his own credentials. "What's going on?" he asked the locals.

"Navy cop here got into a fight with a state trooper. Trooper's going to the hospital, this guy's going to the drunk tank until he sobers up."

"I don't think so," Fornell said. "He's coming with me."

"Why?" the Metro officer asked, and Gibbs felt his grin widen. Jurisdictional pissing matches were Fornell's specialty.

"He's on my list," Fornell said vaguely. "Why do you want him?"

"He's drunk and fighting in public," Chris said.

"He was defending me," Sandy provided.

"Of course he was," Fornell said. He looked at Gibbs, and shook his head. Fondly, Gibbs thought. If Fornell could be fond of anything.

"You run him in, you're going to have to process him, which'll generate a ton of paperwork even if you don't cite him. You'll be off the streets an hour or more on a Saturday night, and it'll amount to nothing," Fornell said.

"It's worse than that," Sandy piped up. "With the way he smacked his head on the bar when he went down, you're going to have to medically clear him before you can take him to the tank. That means at least two hours at the emergency room. Maybe three on a Saturday night, even if you wave the badges around."

"There you go," Fornell said. "He's not worth it. Besides, he wasn't fighting. He was just being a gentleman."

"What if the trooper's story is different than theirs?" the not-Chris cop asked. One of the fire medics had left, and returned with a gurney loaded with a backboard and a series of straps.

"It's not like he's going anywhere," Fornell said. "Let me have him for now. I'll get him off the street until he's sober, and when I'm done with him, I'll make sure his boss knows he was causing trouble for you."

The officers checked with each other. On the floor, the medics were securing the drunk to a backboard, protecting his head and spine. Gibbs watched the cops, watched the medics, enjoying the show on both fronts.

"You'll make him available if we need him?" Chris asked.

"Absolutely," Fornell said.

Chris shrugged, and not-Chris nodded. "Alright. But if the Trooper's hurt, we're going to come for him."

"Of course."

Chris took out a small notebook and a pen. He wrote down Fornell's name, ID and phone number, then turned to Gibbs.

"You do this often, Agent Gibbs?" he asked. He started copying Gibbs' information off his ID.

"Shouldn'a pushed'er," Gibbs said.

"Shut up, Gibbs," Fornell said.

"Why?" Gibbs asked. "He shou... shouldn'a."

The officer held out Gibbs' ID folder. Gibbs reached for it, fumbled, and the badge hit the floor. Gibbs bent forward to pick it up and started to fall off the stool. Fornell and not-Chris grabbed him.

"M'fine," Gibbs objected.

"You better get him home," Chris said, not letting go.

"I will," Fornell said.

"Doan wanna go home," Gibbs said.

"Shut up, Gibbs," Fornell said. He made sure Gibbs was stable on the stool then crouched to snag the fallen ID.

The medics loaded the now semi-conscious trooper onto the gurney. He had come around enough to start struggling halfheartedly against the straps. There was a pause in activity in the bar as the medics passed by, the crowd making way.

"You gonna be able to handle him?" Chris asked of Gibbs after the medics were gone.

"On'y ona good night," Gibbs said.

"Gibbs: Shut. Up," Fornell said. His admonishments were growing more annoyed. He turned back to the officers. "We'll be fine. Thanks for helping out."

"Whatever you say. We'll be in touch."

The cops made their way toward the door. Fornell turned to Sandy.

"He owe you anything?"

"Nope. He gave me his card."

"How much did he drink?" Fornell asked. She showed him the bottle, swinging it a little. Fornell could see the level of bourbon splashing just below the bottom edge of the label.

"There's about two shots left, and it was fresh when he started," Sandy said.

Fornell sighed. "God, Jethro, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Wanned'a f'get," Gibbs replied morosely.

"Of course you did," Fornell said again. "I don't expect you're going to remember much of this. Let's go."

"Take care of him, okay?" Sandy said. "He really did take a good hit to the head."

"I will," Fornell said. "Let's go," he said to Gibbs. He looped one of Gibbs' arms around his neck and guided him off the stool. The Marine was far from steady and for a second, Fornell wasn't sure Gibbs was going to find his feet. But after a few tense moments, Gibbs took some of his own weight.

"Hey, needa leavea tip," Gibbs said as they stepped away. He pulled against Fornell, trying to turn back to the bar.

"It's alright, Jethro. I'll add it to your bill," Sandy said with a grin, then continued. "Wait, his keys." She snatched them off the hook and held them out to Fornell. He recognized the key fob and remote: Gibbs had brought a company car. Great. Fornell took the keys with a nod of thanks.

The two feds made their way through the crowd and outside. Gibbs was walking – sort of – but Fornell was carrying most of the load.

"Where's your car?" Fornell asked.

"Inna back," Gibbs said. Fornell started that way, half dragging Gibbs along with him. When they got to the agency car, Fornell hit the remote button to unlock the door. He manhandled Gibbs into the passenger seat and secured his seatbelt. Noticing the emptiness of his belt, Fornell asked: "Where's your gun?"

"S'cure," Gibbs said, his head lolling against the headrest. Out of the stimulation of the bar environment, Gibbs was already beginning to fade out.

"Secure where?" Fornell asked. Gibbs gestured vaguely over his shoulder. Fornell remembered NCIS kept a lock box for evidence and other miscellaneous items in the trunk. He slammed the passenger door shut and went around to the trunk. Unlocking it, he found the box secured. There was no matching key on the ring.

Fornell returned to the passenger side and wrenched open the door. "Where's the key?" he asked. Gibbs didn't react. Fornell punched Gibbs's shoulder none too lightly. Gibbs' eyes snapped open and he jerked sideways.

"Hey!" Gibbs objected.

"Where's the key to the lock box?" Fornell asked.

"Got it," Gibbs said, and his eyes closed again. His head slid sideways and he was still. Passed out.

Fornell gave it up. He would bet his alimony payment that Gibbs had secured his gun before going into the bar, which meant even if he didn't have the key, the weapon was safe. Fornell climbed into the driver's seat and started the car.

Fornell had been getting ready for bed after a day that had been more difficult than many when he got a call from one of his junior agents. The man was calling to say he was out at a bar in Northwest, and none other than Special Agent Gibbs was half way to plastered. Fornell thought he heard an undercurrent of glee in the young man's voice. It was understandable. After all, Gibbs' reputation for always being in control, never feeling anything, never letting it get to him, was legend in Washington federal law enforcement. To discover the giant had feet of clay, and to bear first-hand witness, was something the junior agent would probably talk about for years.

Fornell had tried to downplay the circumstances. When he got off the phone, he'd sat for a while in his kitchen, trying to decide what to do. So Jethro was out getting drunk. Unusual, but certainly nothing requiring intervention. Or was it?

In the end, it was Abby's 'order' that he watch Gibbs' back that made Fornell put his clothes back on and head out to the bar. He was half way there when the same agent called back: Gibbs had just knocked some guy out, and police were on the way. Fornell turned on the emergency lights and increased his speed.

When he saw just exactly how drunk Gibbs was, and realized the locals were planning on running him in, Fornell reacted. He didn't really have a plan, other than to keep Gibbs out of jail. He thanked whatever angels were watching them tonight that he was able to talk Metro into letting him take Gibbs home. He'd decided on the fly to drive Gibbs's car home instead of using his own. At least if Jethro threw up on the way, Fornell wouldn't have to clean it up. It was the same reason he decided to take Jethro to his own house and stay with him there: Less mess to clean up in the morning.

Gibbs stayed out the entire drive home. When Fornell pulled up in front of the house and shut off the engine, Gibbs stirred and blearily opened his eyes.

"Wher're?" he mumbled.

"Home," Fornell replied.

"Oh," Gibbs said. He made no move to get out of the car. Fornell got out and went around, pulling open the passenger door.

"Come on, Jethro. Bed time," he said. Gibbs turned to look at him, shaking his head a little.

"Sleep 'ere," he said, and laid his head back.

"Nope. Inside." Fornell reached across and unsnapped the seatbelt, then pulled on Gibbs' arm to get him moving. Gibbs reluctantly rolled out of the car, needing Fornell's help to get to his feet.

Fornell closed up the car and half-carried Gibbs up the porch and into the house. He unceremoniously dumped Gibbs on the couch, pulling his legs up and his body around so he was lying on his side with his face turned slightly down. At least if he threw up now, he wouldn't choke. Gibbs wriggled a little, but stayed put. Fornell removed Gibbs' boots and set them aside, then took the blanket off the end of the couch and draped it over Gibbs' body. He knew from experience it got cold in the old house at night. Looking over the situation, Fornell bent down and pulled the coffee table a few feet away from the couch, in case Gibbs rolled off.

Satisfied his old friend would be safe for the moment, Fornell went upstairs to Gibbs' guest room and gathered a pillow and blanket, returning to the living room. If Gibbs was just drunk, Fornell would have let him sleep it off on his own. But the bartender had said he'd taken a nasty whack to the head. Which meant Fornell was going to have to wake him up every hour or so to be sure he didn't have a concussion or a brain bleed. They were probably lucky the fire medics hadn't insisted on an ER visit.

Fornell sat in the ugly green easy chair that rested perpendicular to the couch. He kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table. Shaking the blanket out over himself, he stuffed the pillow behind his head and closed his eyes. The fed set his mental alarm for one hour, took a few deep breaths, and slept.

* * *

...to be continued...


	28. Chapter 28 - The Morning After

A/N: To those who were disappointed in Gibbs (in me?) I can only say: Though they keep it off screen to keep the show family friendly, Gibbs has occasionally spoken of drinking too much bourbon and regretting it in the morning. Besides, anyone with that much internal angst has GOT to do things he regrets every now and then, right?

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-eight: The Morning After**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

The first hour, Gibbs didn't want to wake up. Fornell was pretty sure it was the booze, but he poked at Gibbs until he growled and cursed at him. Good enough, Fornell thought and went back to sleep.

The second hour was a repeat of the first, though Gibbs woke a little easier. Still grumpy, still no words that made sense, but when he opened his eyes and looked up at Fornell, there was brief recognition before his eyelids fluttered and he went down again.

The third hour he got more of a response. When he shook Gibbs that time, Gibbs' eyes snapped open and he looked around, confused.

"Wha...?" he mumbled.

"Your house. Too much Jack Daniels. Big guy messing with the bartender," Fornell supplied.

"Sandy," Gibbs said, his voice rough but no longer slurry. He blinked several times, then suddenly sat up hard, swinging his feet to the floor. He sat for no more than two seconds with his head hanging before he lurched upright. He stumbled, and even as Fornell simultaneously reached to steady him and stepped out of the way, Gibbs found his balance and took off in a long-step stagger toward the first-floor office and its attached bath.

Fornell listened as Gibbs tripped over something in the room, cussed lightly, then made it to the bathroom. Through the doors Gibbs didn't close, Fornell heard no retching, just a long emptying of the bladder. Fornell retook the easy chair and waited. Gibbs flushed, ran water in the sink for several minutes, then returned to the living room. He was walking slowly, one hand on the back of his neck. His face was wet and he'd stripped down to his undershirt and boxer briefs.

"You alright?" Fornell asked. Gibbs started to nod, changed his mind, and spoke instead.

"Yeah," he said. He was still slightly unsteady on his feet and fell face down onto the couch with a grunt. Fornell grinned internally.

A minute or two later, Fornell had his eyes closed and was beginning to drift away when Gibbs spoke.

"What were you doing? There?" he asked. Fornell looked over to see Gibbs had turned his head and was looking at him.

"Came to save your butt," Fornell said.

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Because Abby knows 14 ways to kill without leaving any forensic evidence," Fornell supplied. Gibbs considered that for a second.

"She's a good girl," he said, and closed his eyes.

"She is," Fornell agreed. A minute later, Gibbs was softly snoring.

**28-28-28-28-28**

Fornell woke Gibbs twice more before deciding it was safe to let him sleep. He left Gibbs snoring on the couch and spent what was left of the night in the guest room. When he woke a few hours later at his usual 6:30, he showered, borrowed some sweat pants and a t-shirt from Gibbs' dresser, and returned to the first floor. Gibbs had rolled over since Fornell last saw him, and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Fornell watched him for almost a minute, then started coffee before looking around for breakfast. There weren't many options: Gibbs wasn't much of a breakfast man. Fornell settled on toast with strawberry jam. While the bread toasted, he called the hospital and learned that Rebecca was still improving, but there was no change with Amy. Still critical, still on life support, still holding her own.

After hanging up, Fornell went out to the porch to get the Sunday paper. It was cold and there was a wind blowing from the east. He peered up at the lightening sky: Still overcast. He glanced down at the paper to check the weather forecast on the front page. It said there was a new storm moving in, thunderstorms expected by the end of the day. Great.

Back in the house, Fornell laid the sections of the paper out in the order he liked to read them: Funnies first, then entertainment, sports, business, and finally the news. Everything else went in a pile on the side.

Half an hour later, a headline on the front page below the fold caught his eye and he nearly choked on his coffee. 'Local Muslim teen victim of stoning in D.C.' It was six inches in two columns on the bottom right corner of the page, and it quoted only 'anonymous sources' at George Washington Hospital. The unnamed 16-year-old Muslim girl had been pregnant, and speculation was that that was the reason she was attacked. Her baby, born after an emergency c-section, was in stable but serious condition. The girl was in critical condition and not expected to survive.

"Son of a bitch!" Fornell said under his breath.

"What?" came Gibbs' voice. Fornell looked over his shoulder to see Gibbs sitting up on the couch. He was holding his head in his hands and looking at the floor.

"Someone at the hospital talked to the Post," Fornell said. "No names, but they got the details right."

"Fabulous," Gibbs said. He scratched at his hair. Gently, Fornell noticed. "Any mention of the Hamiltons?"

"No. Just unnamed 16-year-old girl and newborn baby."

"That's something," Gibbs said.

"Might be good to send over reinforcements anyway," Fornell said. "It's Sunday morning, but the newsies will be around eventually, looking for quotes for tomorrow's early edition. Might even get the TV people."

Gibbs straightened, pushed to his feet. He groaned and staggered a little.

"You alright?" Fornell asked. Instead of answering, Gibbs headed for the bathroom again. This time, he closed the door.

By the time he returned, Fornell had poured Gibbs a mug of coffee and set it on the table along with a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin and the coffee pot. Gibbs took a seat. He was still wearing only his underwear, and Fornell could smell the alcohol leaching out through his pores from five feet away.

"How much did I drink last night?" Gibbs asked. He leaned on his elbows, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. It had been a long time since he'd had a hangover at all, much less one this bad. His head was pounding, and the sound of Fornell's voice was setting off waves of pain and dizziness. His stomach had rolled in the bathroom and he'd gagged up nothing for several minutes. He could feel his heart rate was elevated and the strength of the blood pulsing over his temples suggested his blood pressure was way up, too. His long muscles were protesting every movement and his body felt heavy. This was the reason he rarely had more than a shot or two. Getting drunk - while attractive in the act - was never an answer in the aftermath.

"It was apparently a fresh fifth, and when you stopped, there wasn't enough left put someone over the limit," Fornell said.

"Oh," Gibbs said. He straightened and tapped two pills out of the aspirin bottle, noticing his hands were shaking slightly. He tossed the pills back and drank deeply from the water. When his head tipped past vertical, Gibbs felt an isolated stab of pain erupt from somewhere in the region of his left temple. He put the glass down and felt at his head. A goose egg that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.

"Did I hit my head?" he asked Fornell.

"What do you remember?" Fornell countered.

"Stetsons," Gibbs said as he carefully finished the water. "The bartender's name was Sandy. The Giants were down by two in the fifth."

"They lost by six," Fornell said, having read that in the sports section. "Anything else?"

Gibbs shrugged. "There were pretzels."

Fornell filled him in on what he knew of the events of the night before while Gibbs drank coffee.

"Did I hurt him?" Gibbs asked of the trooper when Fornell was done.

"Probably not. Metro's got my number, and if the guy'd been hurt, they'd have called. He was already coming around when the medics carried him out of there."

Gibbs gave a short nod, grateful for that, anyway.

"So as long as the Trooper doesn't decide to press charges, we can chalk it up to experience and move on," Fornell concluded. "But next time, if you're gonna get drunk, do us both a favor and do it in the basement."

Gibbs nodded again. He didn't feel like explaining his reason for not wanting to go home last night. Though most of what he remembered was in choppy pieces, he certainly remembered that part of it. He drank more coffee.

"I called the hospital. Rebecca's upgraded from serious to fair. No change with Amy."

"Could be worse," Gibbs said. He gestured to the paper. "Let me see the story." Fornell separated out the front page and folded it so the story about Amy was on top, then slid it across to Gibbs. Gibbs squinted, trying to read the newsprint without his glasses, and felt the pain in his head spike again. Fornell made a small sound and Gibbs looked up. Fornell was holding out his own glasses. Gibbs took them, held them in front of his eyes and nodded. They'd work.

He quickly read the short story. It was as Fornell had said: They'd got the details right. Someone at the hospital had talked.

Heavy, fast footsteps on the porch were followed by three loud knocks on the door, which was followed immediately by the door bursting open.

"Why didn't you call me?" Allison Hart demanded loudly as she strode into the living room. Gibbs cringed as her voice stabbed into his skull.

"Good morning, Ms. Hart," Fornell said in a more reasonable tone. "Coffee?"

"It's Amy, isn't it? The girl in the paper?" Allison asked. She stopped a few feet from the table, holding up the same section of the Post Gibbs had just finished reading. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a blue sweatshirt with 'Ole Miss' stenciled across the front, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was obviously pissed off, but Gibbs could tell the source of her anger was concern.

"It's her," he confirmed.

"How badly is she hurt, really?" Allison asked.

"Bad. She's not likely to make it," Gibbs said. Allison took a hard breath.

"You should have called me," she said.

"Yup," he agreed. "Blew that one."

Allison seemed to wilt a little. Her shoulders sank and she dropped her hand.

"What are you doing about it?" she asked.

"Grab a cup and sit down, we'll tell you," Fornell said. Gibbs used his foot to push out the chair across the table from him. Since he was still in his underwear, he figured getting up to make room for her wouldn't be appropriate.

She stood for a second longer, then dropped the paper on the table and moved into the kitchen.

"Mugs to the left of the fridge," Gibbs said. "Sugar in the pantry, milk in the fridge, spoons in the drawer next to the sink," he added. She appeared a moment later with the sugar and a spoon and sat at the table. Two spoonsful of sugar and she filled the mug with coffee.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?" she asked Gibbs as she stirred.

Gibbs considered that, frowning. Where the hell was his phone?

"I didn't hear it ring," he said honestly. Allison took a sip of her coffee, and in the process got a good look at Gibbs.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

"He tripped," Fornell answered, going with the company line. The healing had begun, which meant Gibbs looked better and worse. The swelling around his eyes had gone down, but the bruising had darkened to a deep purple. The steri-stips were starting to turn gray from sweat. His next-day beard stubble darkened the lower half of his face, making it look bruised as well.

Allison examined Gibbs critically from across the table, her nose wrinkling at the smell she suddenly realized was coming from him. "Have you been drinking?" she asked after a minute.

"Not since last night," Gibbs said. He drained his mug, careful not to tip his head too far back, and reached for a refill.

"You went out drinking last night? In the middle of a case? In the middle of this case?" Her voice rose with each phrase until she was practically shouting and Gibbs was again cringing.

"Leave him alone," Fornell said. There was clear warning in his voice, and Allison heard it. She glared at him.

"We've got Amy's father in custody," Gibbs said a minute later, interrupting their staring contest.

"Did he do it?" she asked, turning away from Fornell.

"Along with multiple other men from the mosque."

"Did he confess?" she asked. Allison was hoping so. She knew it did work that way sometimes, especially when religious fervor met disbelief.

"He lawyered up," Fornell said. "Gibbs' people spent the day yesterday working on identifying every man who attends the mosque and running the DNA we got at the scene."

"Anything yet?" Allison asked.

"No," Gibbs said, then wondered if that were true. If someone had found something, they'd have called his cell...

"What about Yameen and Sadie?" Allison asked.

"They're at home with their mother," Gibbs said, and after a breath: "Yameen probably witnessed it."

Allison winced. "Did he tell you that?" she asked.

"No. His mother chased us out," Gibbs said.

"Is there any chance you can convince her to let him talk?" she asked.

"Not a chance in hell," Fornell said. "The mother's not going to let us anywhere near either of them." He glanced across the table at Gibbs, silently reminding him why that was the case. Gibbs ignored him.

Oblivious to the exchange, Allison nodded, thinking. There was something…

"You might be able to have them removed from her custody," she said.

Fornell looked her way. "On what grounds? And to where?"

"There's something in the D.C. Code about serious injury to a minor at the hands of a parent being sufficient grounds for sibling removal," Allison said with some hesitation. "I'll have to look it up. Maybe ask Adrian." She paused. "You didn't call him, either, did you?"

Gibbs shook his head. He should have called Amy's social worker, too. There were probably many more things that had gotten lost in his haze of anger and self-loathing yesterday. He mentally smacked himself. Enough.

"Find out what our options are," he said. "Where they'd go if we had them removed. And find out what's going to happen to Rebecca." When Allison frowned, Gibbs elaborated. "Amy's baby. Her name's Rebecca."

"That's an odd choice," Allison said.

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.

"Won't Daniel take her?"

"He's not her father," Gibbs said, eliciting from her the same surprised expression he'd gotten from Fornell almost 24 hours before. "Workin' on that, too. If we can't identify the father, assuming we don't want Amy's family taking custody, what happens to her?"

"She'll probably go up for adoption. If she's healthy, she'll go fast. Babies usually do. I'll figure it out and call you." She drained the rest of her coffee and stood. "But you're going to have to answer your phone," she said.

"Call me if he doesn't," Fornell said. Allison nodded. At the front door, she turned back.

"You really ought to find a more constructive way to drown your guilt, Mr. Gibbs." With that, she was gone.

Gibbs poured a second mug of coffee. "Where's my phone?" he asked Fornell.

Fornell shook his head. "No clue."

Gibbs suddenly stopped with his mug halfway to his mouth. "My Sig?" He had never in his entire career lost track of his weapon, and it made his heart stutter to realize he didn't remember what he'd done with it.

"Secure," Fornell said, repeating what Gibbs had told him last night.

"Secure where?" Gibbs asked.

"In the lock box in the trunk of your car. I think," he said. When Gibbs's expression demanded an explanation, Fornell continued. "You told me it was secure, gestured in the general direction of the trunk, and pretty much passed out."

"You didn't check the box?" Gibbs asked.

"No key. Wasn't on the ring."

Gibbs concentrated, trying to remember. He remembered leaving the hospital, heading for the bar. He'd parked... in the back lot? Yes. He remembered... Locking the car, starting toward the bar, turning back... He took a relieved breath.

"Yeah, it's there. Phone's there too," Gibbs said.

"Good. Now where's the key?"

Gibbs gave that some thought, and came up blank. None of the bits and pieces he remembered after entering the bar had anything to do with keys.

"You said Sandy gave you my keys?" Gibbs asked.

"Had them on the drunk board," Fornell confirmed.

"So the key's either in the clothes I was wearing last night, or someone at the bar stole it."

"Which doesn't make much sense," Fornell said. "Unless you told someone it was the key to a lockbox with a gun inside. And described your car."

"Don't think I was that drunk," Gibbs said.

"Me either."

They sat for another minute sipping coffee before Fornell prodded him. "Well?" he said.

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"You gonna find the key?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He drank the last of his coffee and considered a third cup. He was still thirsty, but his stomach hadn't gotten any better. Water would probably be the better choice.

"You gonna do that sometime soon?" Fornell asked. Gibbs glared across the table at him. The G-man was grinning.

"You've got no sympathy at all, do you?" Gibbs asked.

"Hey, I brought you the aspirin, didn't I?" Fornell said with a look of mock indignation.

Gibbs set his mug down and pushed his chair back. He stood, wary of a headrush, and was pleased when there wasn't one. The power of his headache was causing a little dizziness, but he figured it would pass. He moved slowly toward the bathroom. He'd noticed his clothes from yesterday lying on the floor there, and figured that was as good a place to start as any.

A minute later, Gibbs emerged wearing the jeans he'd had on the day before. He had the rest of his dirty clothes under his arm and was holding up the lockbox key.

"You got the rest of these?" he asked. Fornell tossed his head toward the entryway, where he'd left Gibbs' keys on the table.

Without comment, Gibbs dumped his clothes on the easy chair, snagged the keys and went outside in his bare feet. He returned a few minutes later with both his cell and his holstered weapon. His phone indicated he had missed 14 calls and had ten messages. Some of those would be Allison, but probably not all of them. He set the phone and the gun on the table, then headed upstairs.

Fornell was finishing his second cup of coffee when Gibbs returned to the main floor. He was wearing a set of heavy blue sweats and sneakers. His hair was wet, though Fornell hadn't heard the shower running. He retook his seat and starting checking messages.

The first was Fornell, just checking in around 10 p.m. and asking him to call when he got the message. Which reminded Gibbs he still needed to find out what Fornell hadn't told him at the hospital last night. The next five messages were Ziva and Abby, taking turns it seemed. Abby first saying the DNA samples she'd submitted had come back with seven distinct males. She was getting them ready to go to CODIS for identification. There'd been no usable prints on the buckets from the construction site. Oh, and she'd confirmed all the hair was from the same donor, Amy.

Next was Ziva saying she'd made facial recognition matches from 22 men at the mosque. Fifteen immigration hits, seven criminal hits, none with outstanding warrants. Of the seven, five were on probation or parole, which might help. Back to Abby, wondering where Gibbs was and warning him he shouldn't pin his hopes on CODIS: Most of the entries in the Combined DNA Index System were convicted criminals and unknown samples taken from crime scenes. So unless one of the men who'd hurt Amy had done time, it wasn't going to help. Besides, a hit from CODIS could take days.

Ziva again at almost midnight saying she was going home, and making Abby go too. Then a final call from Abby at almost 1:30, wondering why he hadn't called back and letting him know she'd call again in the morning.

The next three were Allison, this morning, growing increasingly annoyed at his failure to answer. The last one was only fifteen minutes before, from his father. Just checking in, son, call me when you get a chance. Gibbs listened to that one twice, searching for undertone. He didn't hear any distress, or even concern. Probably was just checking in, like he said. Nonetheless, it was unusual. Gibbs called his father most every Sunday, but never this early. He'd return that call sooner rather than later.

After Gibbs hung up, he looked over at Fornell.

"You know anyone at CODIS?" Gibbs asked. The index was run by the FBI, but it was on the technical side, far from Fornell's influence on the field operations side.

"Maybe. Why?"

"Abby submitted the DNA from the rocks for comparison last night. Says it might take days for an answer. Any way you can speed that up?"

"Maybe," Fornell said again. "I'll make a call."

"Good." Gibbs stood, picked up his phone and his Sig and crossed to his dirty clothes. He dug through the jeans, retrieving his wallet, then pulled up the sweatshirt he was wearing to reveal a black fanny pack. Putting his phone and his wallet into the main compartment, Gibbs slipped his Sig out of its holster and into a specially-designed pocket in the back of the pack. Securing the pouch with Velcro, he pulled his shirt back down and went into the kitchen. He took a plastic water bottle out of one cupboard, put a few ice cubes in the bottle and filled it with water before turning back to Fornell.

"I'm gonna ride for a while. You wanna get your car first?"

A glance at his watch told Fornell it wasn't quite 8:00. He had nowhere to be, and Gibbs' coffee was pretty good. "I'll wait," he said, then added: "Who's with Amy and Rebecca?"

"DiNozzo relieved me, and Hamilton said he'd call if he had to leave. He hasn't."

"You want me to send over some relief? I've got a couple guys I can trust to do it right."

After a moment's consideration, Gibbs nodded. He was going to need his team today. "That'd be good." He capped the water bottle, carried it over to where his bicycle was resting against the living room wall and slipped the bottle into the holder before rolling the bike out of the house.

Years ago, when his knees were still healthy, Gibbs used to run. He was no marathoner, but he enjoyed the simplicity of beginning his workout by just stepping out the front door. No fancy equipment, no gym membership required. Unfortunately, he was years beyond being comfortable with any kind of high-impact exercise. These days he used the stationary bike at the Navy Yard gym when he had to, but he preferred actual biking. This morning, he was hoping to sweat out enough of the remaining alcohol in his system that his team wouldn't notice. Not that he thought there was much of a chance of that: They were smart, observant people, and he'd trained them well. But at least if it wasn't obvious, they'd doubt the truth in front of them. Which he supposed was the best he could hope for.

* * *

...to be continued...


	29. Chapter 29 - Relief

A/N: I continue to be thrilled at every comment and review that appears in response to this story. I would like to thank you all personally, but this will have to do.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-nine: Relief**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Gibbs rode through the parks surrounding Holmes Run for almost an hour, until his headache receded to a dull throb and his stomach settled. The day had dawned gray and dreary and though the temperature was low, the humidity was high. By the time he returned to the house he was soaked with sweat and smelled real bad, but he felt better. He put the bike away, glanced to where Fornell was asleep on the couch, and headed upstairs to shower.

By the time he had dressed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and taken two more aspirin, Gibbs felt about half human again. He'd decided the day would be comfortable casual so he'd put on blue jeans and a burgundy Carhartt hoodie over a gray t-shirt, sneakers on his feet. His head was still throbbing, but the dizziness was gone and his heart rate and blood pressure had returned to near normal. He examined himself in the bathroom mirror, seeing what Fornell had earlier noted: The darkening bruises, the reduced swelling, the grey steri-strips. Not to mention red eyes and an overall haggard look from the events of last night. At least the new lump on his temple didn't show under his hair.

After putting eye drops in to hopefully clear away some of the redness, Gibbs figured he was as presentable as he was going to get. He tidied up the bathroom and descended to the main floor.

"You ready to go?" Fornell asked as Gibbs came down the stairs. He was standing in the kitchen holding a travel mug.

"Yup," Gibbs said. He joined Fornell in the kitchen and filled his own plastic mug with the last of the coffee. Anticipating the rain to come, Gibbs grabbed his jacket on his way out the door.

The ride back to the bar was mostly quiet. Gibbs felt well enough to drive, but took it easy as he wound his way through the empty D.C. streets. Even the most dedicated private employees and public servants took Sunday off. It was far too early in the morning for tourists, though there was some traffic around the churches they passed. Hard times tended to fill the pews.

They agreed to meet up later in the afternoon – earlier if something broke. Fornell reported relief agents had arrived to watch over both Amy and Rebecca, but neither DiNozzo nor the Hamiltons had left. They were apparently waiting to hear from Gibbs. Which secretly pleased the old Marine to no end. You couldn't buy loyalty like that.

Gibbs pulled up next to Fornell's car and put it in park. Fornell opened the door and turned to get out.

"Hey," Gibbs said, stopping him. Fornell turned back, eyes raised.

"What do you know that I don't?" he asked.

Fornell didn't even pretend to not understand. He was actually surprised Gibbs had held out this long.

"Daniel says Amy didn't remember getting pregnant. After the homecoming dance, she and a bunch of other kids went walking on the Mall. She drank a little alcohol, kissed her boyfriend, and woke up an hour later lying on the grass. She didn't even know she'd had sex until she realized she was pregnant a few months later."

"Raped," Gibbs said.

"According to Daniel," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded, took a hard breath. He felt a strange mix of anger and sorrow flooding his brain. Even as it rose, he tamped it down.

"This case..." he said.

"Just keeps getting better," Fornell interjected. "I'll catch up with you later." He got out and gently swung the door shut. Even as it was closing, Gibbs hit the auto window.

"Tobias," he called. Fornell leaned in the window.

"Thank you. For last night," he said. Fornell nodded.

"You're welcome."

**29-29-29-29-29**

Gibbs started making phone calls as soon as he drove away. His first check-in was with DiNozzo at the hospital. Yes, he'd slept some, Tony reported. He felt fine. A shower and a change of clothes and he'd be ready to go again. There was some Fibbie here, he reported. Said Fornell had sent him, was Gibbs okay with that? Gibbs told him about the Post article and DiNozzo expressed the same frustration as his boss. Gibbs told him he'd be there to pick him up shortly.

His second call was to McGee. The phone rang four times and Gibbs was anticipating voice mail when McGee picked up. His voice was clogged with sleep. The younger man explained he'd only gotten to bed a few hours ago and had been woken by the phone. He'd spent most of the night chasing thin leads, and he'd found something. It was tenuous, but he thought it might be a connection between Amy's parents and the former Secretary of the Navy. Which might – might – explain why they'd been chosen to come to America in the first place, and why NCIS had been assigned her missing person's case so soon. Gibbs told him to spill, but McGee deferred: It was best explained visually. Fine. They'd meet at the Navy Yard as soon as McGee could get there.

Ziva was next. She was already at the office. She was in the process of compiling dossiers on the 22 men they'd identified from the mosque. Most of them were average, hard-working immigrants, but a few had shady pasts. She'd explain when he got there.

Gibbs debated calling Abby, but didn't. His favorite forensic scientist was more of a night owl than any of them. She'd probably been in bed even less time than McGee, and until the results came back from CODIS, there was no reason to bug her. Besides, she liked to go to church on Sundays, and if she wasn't sleeping in, chances were she'd be in service somewhere.

His final call was to his father in Stillwater, Pennsylvania. Jackson was fine, things were going well. Business was good. Was everything okay in Washington?

Gibbs' relationship with his father was on the mend. After 15 years of silence, a case had taken Gibbs home a few years before and they'd started talking again. They still weren't friends, but they never had been, really. Just being able to talk to his dad without one of them saying something hurtful was a major improvement. They'd shared some tough times in the interim. Not the least of which was when the now-grown children of the Mexican drug lord Gibbs had killed twenty years before in retribution for the murder of his wife and daughter showed up in Stillwater seeking their own revenge.

Despite their improving relationship, Gibbs wasn't ready to talk about his failure in this case. So he just skimmed over it: Work was good, busy. They were taking care of business.

Jackson must have heard something in his son's voice, because he pushed a little. You sure everything's okay, Leroy? You don't sound so good. Nah, just a tough case, Dad. He was fine, but busy. Okay if they talked later? Gibbs made a mental note to call Jackson when this case wrapped. Maybe he'd go up there for a few days, get out of town. Clear his head.

Gibbs filed that in the 'later' box in his brain. For now, he stopped at the hospital and went first to Amy's room. After clearing the security check – which hadn't relaxed any, Gibbs was pleased to note – and washing his hands, he stood silently in the doorway for a moment, absorbing the details. As Fornell had reported, there was no apparent change in the girl's condition. Like Gibbs' own, Amy's bruises had reached the depth of purple. Unlike his, the swelling in her face had decreased no further by his estimate. Her features were still virtually unrecognizable.

DiNozzo was beside the bed. The straight chair had been replaced by a large pink vinyl easy chair that if Gibbs remembered correctly could recline almost flat. That would have been where Tony slept last night. Now he had it mostly upright and facing the head of the bed, his back to the door.

At the end of the bed, a young man in a dark suit was sitting in the straight chair, sideways to the entrance, looking slightly nervous. Must be the relief Fornell sent. He hadn't noticed Gibbs' appearance. Gibbs glanced at his face, a slight twig of memory telling him he'd seen the young man before, and not long ago. He focused, trying to remember. The agent felt the scrutiny and looked over, his eyes widening at the sight of Gibbs. Uncertain if it was just the condition of his face or something more, Gibbs stared at him. The younger agent's expression turned to one of guilt.

"Do I know you?" Gibbs asked, making DiNozzo turn to look around the back of the chair.

"Oh, hey Boss," DiNozzo said and used his feet to push the chair around. Gibbs tossed his head in greeting, but kept his eyes on the other agent.

"Uh, not really," the agent said. "I mean… I know who you… I was…" The kid seemed to gather himself and stood.

"John Childs, FBI," he said. He started to offer his hand, remembered he was wearing gloves and aborted the move.

"Amy's doing okay," DiNozzo said, interrupting the awkwardness. "Doc came in an hour ago and said even without any obvious improvement, the fact that there's been no decline in her condition means her chances of survival are increasing exponentially." Gibbs finally turned that way. His second looked a little rough around the edges, but his eyes were clear. He'd definitely slept.

"You ready to go?" Gibbs asked. In reply, DiNozzo stood, pushing the chair out of the way and back against the wall with his hip. He leaned down and whispered something in Amy's ear before gently brushing his fingers along her forehead. He straightened and stripped off his gloves.

"Don't leave her alone, not even to hit the head," DiNozzo instructed Childs, taking the words right out of Gibbs' mouth. "Wait for a nurse to come into the room, then use that one." He gestured toward the attached bath. "They'll deliver lunch and coffee if you ask nicely."

"Anything in particular I should be expecting?" he asked.

"Her father and a bunch of his friends tried to kill her, and they're probably pretty disappointed she lived," DiNozzo said. "She's on visitor restriction. No one in here except hospital staff, her friend Daniel Hamilton, and his brother, Marine Sgt. Robert Hamilton. You shouldn't be expecting anyone else."

"Anyone else tries to get in the room, shoot them," Gibbs said.

William's eyes widened almost theatrically.

"He's kidding," DiNozzo said. "Sort of."

"How long have you been an agent?" Gibbs asked suddenly.

"Almost three years," Childs said.

"How long with Fornell?"

"Six months," he said, making Gibbs bristle. Gibbs was about to say something more, but Childs cut him off.

"Fornell told me to tell you I spent the last two years of my military service with the Green Berets in Afghanistan. He also told me to tell you we weren't as good as Force Recon, but we did okay."

Gibbs nodded. He could live with that. "Call me if anything happens. Otherwise, you'll be relieved by 1900." Gibbs paused. "Be sure she knows you're here."

Childs nodded and moved his chair around to where the easy chair had been. Gibbs and DiNozzo stepped out. Gibbs waited while DiNozzo washed his hands, then the two of them headed for the NICU.

"Childs was at the bar last night," DiNozzo said as they waited for the elevator.

"What bar?" Gibbs asked absently.

"The one you were drinking in," DiNozzo said. Gibbs stopped and turned to stare at him.

"He's the one who called Fornell," DiNozzo said.

"How did that come up?" Gibbs asked, wondering how eager the young agent had been to rat him out.

"He said he was there to relieve me, I told him not 'til I heard from you, he told me I probably wouldn't hear from you anytime soon... He wasn't eager to tell me, but it didn't take long."

Not for the first time, Gibbs wondered at how good DiNozzo had gotten at reading his mind. "What else did he tell you?" he growled.

"He said he wasn't sure if Fornell was punishing him or rewarding him by making him come down here. He was originally scheduled to do a PR day at some community event in Silver Springs, which he didn't want to do anyway, but babysitting wasn't really..."

"About the bar, DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted. The elevator arrived with a ding. Thankfully, the car was empty. They stepped on.

"Oh. He said you spent the evening drinking hard, and then got into an argument and punched some guy. He stayed until Fornell showed up then snuck out the back." DiNozzo paused. "Is it true?"

Gibbs suddenly felt like he was about to pull the mask off the Lone Ranger. It wasn't that he was perfect. Hell, anyone who knew him well knew that. Not that there were many people who knew him well. Still, Gibbs had made a career out of appearing to be invincible, and over the years he'd perfected the technique. Even those who'd been in a position to see him fail and should therefore know better – like his team, for instance – somehow managed to seem shocked every time he screwed up.

"Yes, DiNozzo, it's true," Gibbs said finally. "It was not a good night." The doors dinged open on the NICU floor and they checked in at security.

"You should have called me," DiNozzo said when they were on the other side and moving down the hall. "McGee could have spent the night here. I would have gone with you."

"I know," Gibbs said.

Another suited Fed was sitting on a straight chair outside the room Rebecca had been assigned. This one was older, probably late 40s, and bald. He stood at their approach and positioned himself in front of the closed door. Gibbs silently approved.

"DiNozzo, Gibbs, NCIS," Tony introduced them and held up his creds.

"And yours?" the agent asked, indicating Gibbs. With minimal annoyance, Gibbs produced his own badge and showed it.

"Thank you, Special Agent Gibbs," the agent said. "Special Agent Troy Jennings, WFO." He offered a hand, which both agents shook.

"What'd Fornell tell you to tell me?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing. He just warned me that you'd had a bad night and I should make sure I do everything by the book," Jennings responded without hesitation. "I arrived about an hour ago, announced myself to security, introduced myself to the charge nurse. She introduced me to Sgt. Hamilton. I offered to relieve him, but he said he'd wait to hear from you."

Gibbs nodded. "You know why you're here? What happened?"

Jennings nodded. "Agent Fornell told me, about what happened and about the Post article this morning. He assigned me to come down here and keep the baby company and make sure no one bothers her. And if someone does try, to show them the error of their ways."

"You don't mind babysitting?" DiNozzo asked.

"Nope," Jennings shook his head. "It's what I was supposed to be doing today at home, anyway."

"You have kids?" Gibbs asked.

"Yup."

"How old?" Gibbs asked. Jennings smiled.

"My wife and I have 12 children, oldest is 24, youngest is three. Nine of them live at home. Our oldest daughter had twin boys almost nine months ago, and they're staying with us, too. It's a full house."

There was a pause while both men considered that. "So this'll actually be a nice break," DiNozzo said. "Only one to watch out for."

"Yup," he repeated, and his smile turned to a grin. "Nurses to do the diapering and feeding, and no need to worry about her crawling off somewhere. This is going to be a cake walk compared to an afternoon at my place."

There was something very real and honest about Jennings' presentation, and it set Gibbs at ease. He invited the agent to accompany them as they pushed through into the room.

The overhead lights were out and the curtains drawn. Daniel was asleep on the bed covered by a thin blanket. The elder Hamilton was sitting in the easy chair next to the isolette, watching the baby. As they moved closer, Gibbs noticed the screen on the ventilator was blank. A quick glance into the isolette showed the tube that had been down Rebecca's throat was gone. She had her fingers in her mouth and she was lying on her side for the first time, with a collection of rolled-up towels around her on all sides to keep her that way. A small bag of something that looked kind of like a milkshake hung above the isolette, the fluid running to the tube in Rebecca's nose. Food.

Hamilton looked over at them and smiled. "Guess you really did send him," he said softly, tossing his head toward Jennings. "Wasn't sure I wanted to trust another unknown fed."

"How is she?" Gibbs asked, his voice equally quiet.

"She's doing really well. They took her off the ventilator a couple hours ago and she's been really stable. They figure the drugs in her system were stifling her breathing."

"Drugs?" DiNozzo asked, and Gibbs realized he hadn't shared that with his team.

"Amy had opioids on board when she got here," Gibbs said.

"What kind?" DiNozzo asked.

"Fentanyl," Hamilton supplied. "The doc told us earlier."

"Someone doped her before they... hurt her?" DiNozzo asked, tripping a bit over the words.

"Apparently," Gibbs said.

"Why?"

"When we get someone to admit being there, we'll know," Gibbs said. His expression said he was done discussing it for now.

"Why's she on her side?" DiNozzo asked, moving on.

"Doc says it's better for her. The towels around her is like a nest: Supposed to make her feel safer."

"What're they feeding her?"

Hamilton's face twitched. "Breast milk," he said.

Both agents stared. Gibbs broke the silence. "Whose?" he asked.

"Amy's," he said. "They're pumping it. They said it's important for Rebecca to get the first milk, and it doesn't bother Amy any."

Gibbs supposed it made sense. But it was still kind of creepy, in a 'men don't deal with this stuff' sort of way.

"How long's he been asleep?" DiNozzo asked, gesturing to Daniel. He, too, was a little nonplussed about the idea of taking an unconscious mother's breast milk. During the night, he'd twice allowed the nursing staff to close the curtains around Amy's bed and block his view of procedures. After checking their ID, of course. That must have been one of the things they'd done.

Hamilton accepted the change of topic with grace. "I made him lie down a couple hours ago. He went out like a light. Hasn't woken since, not even when your friend here arrived."

"He needs to sleep," DiNozzo said. "It's going to be a long road."

"That's what I told him," Hamilton said. "Wasn't an easy fight, but I usually win. So what's he doing here?" he asked, referring to Jennings.

"Someone at the hospital talked to the Post," Gibbs said.

"About Amy?" Hamilton asked with obvious concern.

"And Rebecca," Gibbs said. "No mention of the two of you yet, but eventually, the reporters are going to try and get in here."

"Terrific," Hamilton said.

"Special Agent Jennings is here to back you up, officially," DiNozzo explained. "He's got a badge and a gun and a license to use both."

"It's alright, we're fine," Hamilton said.

"You might be, but your brother needs a break," Gibbs said.

"Take him home," DiNozzo said. "Get cleaned up, eat something, check in with your command. Come back when you're ready. Jennings'll watch after Rebecca 'til you get back, and stay until he's relieved by another agent tonight."

"You sure?" Hamilton asked. He turned to Jennings. "No offense, but isn't babysitting a little below your pay grade?"

"He's okay," Gibbs said. "He'll take care of her."

Hamilton examined Jennings critically. The agent stood for it. After a minute, Hamilton nodded. "Alright," he said, and stood up. He stretched out and moved over to the bed, gently shaking his brother's shoulder. The teen grumped and groaned, refusing to wake.

"Come on, Danny, time to wake up," Hamilton said in a normal tone that seemed loud in the still room.

Daniel said something unintelligible and rolled over before suddenly taking a deep gasping breath. His eyes snapped open and he sat up suddenly.

"Easy, Bärchen. The hospital, remember?" Daniel looked wildly around the room, taking in each of them, his breath coming hard. Hamilton kept a hand on his shoulder.

"Wha..." he said.

"It's alright. We're at the hospital, with Rebecca. Remember?" Hamilton said. Another three seconds passed, then Daniel nodded. He held his breath for a five count, then washed his hands over his face.

"Is he alright?" DiNozzo asked.

"He's fine," Hamilton said. "Aren't you, Danny?"

The young man nodded, swallowed, then spoke.

"Who's he?" he asked, pointing at Jennings.

"Our temporary relief. We're going home for a bit," Hamilton said.

"No way," Daniel argued immediately. He caught his breath, got up, and moved over to the isolette, taking up an almost protective stance beside it.

"Yes way," Hamilton said. "I need a shower, and so do you."

"We can shower here," Danny argued.

"I also need to check in with the boss, and make sure Rufus hasn't forgotten who feeds him."

"Where is your dog?" DiNozzo asked. Hamilton looked his way.

"I had one of my crew get him from the house yesterday," he said. He turned back to Daniel, who was looking down through the top of the isolette at the tiny baby.

"You know how quickly he picks up bad habits at John's house. We'll get cleaned up, I'll work with Rufus a little, and we'll come straight back. Two hours, three at the most. I swear."

"But what if they come for her while we're gone?" Daniel said, not looking at him. "What if something happens?"

"If they come for her, I'll stop them," Jennings spoke up. He pulled back his jacket to reveal his holstered sidearm. "I protect people for a living. It'll be my honor to protect your daughter."

Daniel looked over with narrowed eyes, suspicious. It was clear he thought Jennings might be mocking him.

"He's for real," DiNozzo said seriously. "He's got 12 kids of his own."

"And two grandbabies less than a year old. I'll treat her like she was mine," Jennings said. "And if something happens while you're gone, I'll call you myself."

"We can be back here in 20 minutes if something goes wrong," Hamilton said. "I'll even use the siren if I have to, cut it to 15."

"You sure?" Daniel asked.

"She won't do any growing in the couple hours you're gone," Jennings said. "Trust me."

"It'll be alright," Gibbs said. He regretted the words almost before they were out of his mouth.

"You said that about Amy," Daniel said, confirming their thoughts were aligned, though Gibbs did not hear the accusation he expected in Daniel's tone.

"I know," Gibbs said, granting the painful point. He wasn't expecting what Daniel said next.

"It wasn't your fault, you know. I understand better now than before. You couldn't have known this would happen."

Gibbs stared at the teenager, frankly shocked and not sure what his response should be. Daniel filled the void.

"I've been thinking about it a lot. I think when you're filled up with anger, there's no room left for peace. You can't start to heal until you start to let it go."

"Well said," DiNozzo said quietly. Daniel nodded at him and turned to Jennings.

"You'll call me right away? If something happens?" Daniel asked the fed.

"Give me your number," Jennings said, and took out his cell. Daniel read his number off and Jennings saved it in his phone.

"And you won't let anyone in here without a badge?" Daniel asked.

"On my honor," Jennings said, tapping his heart with his right fist twice in quick succession.

"Okay," Daniel said and turned to his older brother, who'd been watching the exchange with a satisfied smile on his face. "Let's go."

"We'll be back in a couple hours," Hamilton said. With a final look at Rebecca, the brothers left.

"Call me, too," Gibbs said to Jennings, who nodded. The agents followed suit.

**29-29-29-29-29**

Gibbs' phone rang while they were driving across to the Navy Yard. He put it to the dash speaker.

"The death of, or life-threatening injury to, a minor child caused by, or negligently not prevented by, a custodial parent is grounds for the removal of all other minors in the home at the discretion of the supervising social worker, department head, or other designated individual, regardless of the assessed level of threat, or lack thereof, to the remaining children."

Allison Hart had obviously done her homework, and done it quickly.

"What's the standard of proof?" Gibbs asked.

"Reasonable suspicion," Allison said. "That's all that's required to remove them. Then Children's Services has two business days to file a petition to detain them, and another two days for a hearing. Standard at that point is probable cause."

"So with what we've got we can get Yameen and Sadie out of their mother's custody for four days?" DiNozzo clarified, catching on fast.

"If you've got reasonable suspicion the father did it, and can articulate it to a social worker, yes," Allison said.

"Where would they go?" DiNozzo asked. "Wouldn't do any good to have them sent to some foster home where they might not let us talk to them."

And where we can't protect them, Gibbs thought.

"Since I represent Amy, I can't imagine the Court would refuse my application to become the other kids' Guardian ad Litem. In which case, their placement would be up to me."

"And you'd recommend what?" Gibbs asked.

"We'll deal with that if you decide to remove them," Allison said. "But the Court would find any licensed foster home, group home, or other recognized place of safety to be acceptable."

"Federal safe house?" DiNozzo asked.

"With the right supervision, probably," Allison said.

"What about Rebecca?" Gibbs asked.

"If paternity can't be established, she becomes a ward of the Court. A determination is made if Amy has other relatives willing, able, and qualified to take custody of the baby. Failing that, she's declared a legal orphan and is released for adoption by any interested party."

"How long does that take?" DiNozzo asked.

"The process will likely start as early as tomorrow. As Amy's social worker, Adrian will be assigned Rebecca's case as well. He'll begin the investigation, probably with a paternity test on Daniel, and as soon as the results come back negative, a dependency case will open."

"Can you stall it?" Gibbs asked.

"Maybe. Why?" Allison asked.

"She's not leaving the hospital any time soon, so there's no hurry," DiNozzo filled in.

"The longer Daniel spends with her, the worse it's going to be when she's taken from him," Allison cautioned.

"Probably," Gibbs agreed. "Stall it anyway."

"I see what I can do. You going to remove the kids?"

"Not yet. Put the paper together. I'll get back to you." He disconnected.

"She's right, you know," DiNozzo said a minute later. "Separating Daniel from Rebecca before he gets too attached might be the most humane thing to do."

"Maybe," Gibbs said. DiNozzo glanced over at him and frowned.

"You know something I don't?" DiNozzo asked. He'd seen that look on his boss's face before. Usually meant there was a plan in the works no one knew about yet.

"Many things, DiNozzo, many things."

* * *

...to be continued...


	30. Chapter 30 - What Happened at the Party

A/N: Thanks to those who continue to review. To those of you who haven't chimed in in a while, I'd sure love to hear from you. I consider every review a great gift. Better even than cookies. Though if you'd like to send cookies, oatmeal raisin are my favorite. Just sayin... joy

* * *

**Chapter Thirty: What Happened at the Party**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_"She's right, you know," DiNozzo said a minute later. "Separating Daniel from Rebecca before he gets too attached might be the most humane thing to do."_

_"Maybe," Gibbs said. DiNozzo glanced over at him and frowned._

_"You know something I don't?" DiNozzo asked. He'd seen that look on his boss's face before. Usually meant there was a plan in the works no one knew about yet._

_"Many things, DiNozzo, many things."_

The fact was, Gibbs had no idea what was going to happen to Amy's baby girl. But he certainly wasn't going to let her disappear into a stranger adoption somewhere. Not that he had any better plans. Yet. He'd figure something out, though. He hadn't kept his promise to keep Amy safe, but he'd sure as hell protect her daughter.

Gibbs used the drive thru at a national chain to get coffees and pastries for four, then spun into the Navy Yard staff lot. DiNozzo buzzed them into the building and carried the food upstairs. Both McGee and David were working at their desks when Gibbs arrived. He glanced at his watch as he rounded his desk: Almost 10 a.m. On a Sunday. No one could ever claim his people weren't driven.

McGee and Ziva greeted him, McGee quickly taking in his casual wardrobe, his reddened eyes, and his haggard look, and just as quickly looking away. Ziva spared him barely a glance, focused as she was on whatever she was working on. DiNozzo handed out the coffee and food before taking his own to his desk.

"Alright, McGee, show me what you found," Gibbs said.

McGee punched a few buttons on his computer and grabbed the remote for the plasma before standing.

"I gotta warn you, Boss, it's not much. I mean, it's something, and it might explain the connection, but it's pretty thin."

"Stop covering your butt and spill, McHedger," DiNozzo said.

"McHedger?" Ziva asked, confused.

"Like someone who hedges their bets," DiNozzo explained.

"That's the best you could do?" McGee asked.

DiNozzo shrugged. "Hey, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"McGee!" Gibbs said, his tone sharp.

"Sorry, Boss," McGee said, and glared at his partner. "At the University in Kandahar, a few months before the city fell to the Taliban, there was a reception for some high ranking officers in the Afghan military, hosted by the Commandant of the Marine Corps and the State Department. It was a high-profile meeting intended to remind the Taliban of U.S. military presence in the area, to try and slow them down. There were some pretty big political concerns at the time over..."

"We know the history, McGee. Move on," Gibbs interrupted.

"Uh, right," McGee said. He clicked on the plasma, revealing a wide-angle black and white photo of a formal party of some kind. Something around three hundred people in both American and Arabian formal wear mingled in a crowd in what appeared to be a large foyer. The shot was taken from one end of the room from an elevated position, perhaps a balcony. It might have been a cocktail party in any Washington hot spot except for the Marines in their Class A's mingling with the finer folk, and the blatantly armed force protection officers hanging around the edges of the room and at the security screening station they could just see on one side of the photo.

"The party was very high security, with everyone on the guest list subject to pre-arrival background screenings. Liban Aziz was teaching at the University, and was on the guest list. His 'plus one' was his wife."

The picture on the plasma changed to a close-up of Aziz sitting at a table in a large dining room. It was a straight-on photo of him, and next to him was a profile view of what they assumed was Mrs. Aziz, though they couldn't really tell because she was wearing the veil. Though his robes were ceremonial, trimmed with braid and obviously formal, and her dark abaya was plain and unadorned.

"Doesn't look like he was anyone special. They invited most of the professors in the Social Sciences divisions."

The picture changed again, this time to a middle-distance shot of a pair of Marines sitting at another table. They were obviously in conversation, the taller of the two leaning in close to the shorter.

"In case you don't recognize him, the Marine on the left is Captain Philip Davenport."

"So Amy's parents and the future Secretary of the Navy were at a party together 18 years ago. That's all you've got?" DiNozzo asked.

"He's not done," Gibbs said with reproach. McGee continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"As part of the security measures taken, there was a video surveillance net covering the public areas of the party. The tapes were archived along with the report from the diplomatic corps on the party. It was your basic 'we came, we ate dinner, there was pleasant conversation, we all went home' kind of thing. Nothing unusual. But when I watched the video, I noticed there was some kind of disturbance. I'm not sure what exactly happened, because there was no mention of anything in the report. I spliced together the important parts."

McGee switched views. A video began to run, showing the dining room some time later. The tables had been cleared and only a few were occupied.

"This is Mr. and Mrs. Aziz," McGee said, indicating a pair sitting at a table with two other women, two other men, and a Marine host. "The reception was scheduled to start soon after the afternoon prayers and end before sunset. It's about 18:30 local, an hour or so from sunset."

The three women were sitting together on one side of the table. Mrs. Aziz was sitting next to her husband, but turned away from him toward the women. They had their heads together and were talking. As they watched, Mrs. Aziz raised one hand to her face and laughed at something. They could see her shoulders shaking. The other women shared the joke. Their body language told the agents Mrs. Aziz was younger than the other two, maybe by many years. Gibbs remembered she was only 18 at the time.

After another minute, Mrs. Aziz turned to her husband and touched his arm. He ignored her while he finished what he was saying. When he finally turned to her, he was clearly still distracted. She said something to him, and he waved a hand dismissively. She said it again, and his expression was exasperated. The Marine spoke up, and after listening to him for a few moments, Aziz nodded. The Marine stood and pulled back Mrs. Aziz's chair, then each of the other women's in turn. The four of them left the room together, the Marine leading the women.

"They leave through a side entrance, to an area with no cameras," McGee said. "About 10 minutes later, two of the women return alone. A minute after that, the Marine returns. Without Mrs. Aziz."

He fast forwarded the video to the point the Marine returned. The officer paused at the table, said something to Aziz. Aziz looked up at him. His expression was more perturbed than concerned. He shook his head, clearly dismissing the Marine, who gave a half shrug and retook his seat.

"Another ten minutes passes, Aziz occasionally glancing around, maybe looking for her. Then this, across the room."

The view switched again. As they watched, a uniformed server hurried up to a group of five Americans who were standing near the entrance. Two men in tuxedos, three Marine officers in dress blues. He spoke urgently to them, and the highest ranking Marine along with one of the diplomats followed the server quickly out of the room. McGee hit pause.

"Again, they went to an area with no cameras," McGee said. "They were gone for four minutes." He resumed the play. The diplomat returned to the dining room with the server, a grim look on his face. The server slipped past him and disappeared out of the frame. The diplomat glanced around, and zeroed in on Capt. Davenport, who was sitting at a table at the side of the room with a small mixed group. After a moment's conversation directly into his ear, Davenport got up and quickly followed him out.

"They're both gone for another six minutes," McGee said. He didn't pause the tape this time, and it blacked out for a second before resuming. The first Marine who'd left with the server and the diplomat re-entered the dining room with three other enlisted Marines: One in Class A's, two in the working uniforms of force protection. The five men split up, going in three directions. The officer and the diplomat rejoined the group they'd been standing with. Even in the grainy video, it was clear the men were stressed.

McGee spoke again. "Coming up is the only piece I've got outside the dining room." The view changed to the foyer where the party had started. Philip Davenport appeared at one side, a woman they all immediately realized was Mrs. Aziz holding his arm. Her head was down and she was moving unnaturally stiffly. Her gait was much slower than it had been when she'd left the dining room. They made their way across the foyer to a small alcove. Davenport ushered Mrs. Aziz through a narrow door.

"I think it's a restroom," McGee said. The future Secretary of the Navy stood outside the door, pacing nervously.

"He stands out there for almost 15 minutes," McGee said. He fast forwarded the video triple time and they watched Davenport move back and forth, watched him nod at or greet several others as they moved through the foyer to the exit, until finally Mrs. Aziz reemerged. McGee retuned the video to regular speed. She was walking straighter now, and she didn't take his arm. Instead, she walked beside and a pace behind him as they both exited the foyer. The video view switched again, to inside the dining room as they entered. Davenport walked with her over to the table where Aziz and the others were still sitting. Aziz glanced over at her, nodded at Davenport, and resumed his conversation. Like it was nothing unusual that she'd been gone for more than half an hour.

"They stay there for another 10 minutes," McGee said, narrating as he switched the video to double time. "She doesn't engage the other women in conversation, responds minimally, and when it's time to go, she walks out with Aziz, still moving stiff, but otherwise like everything is fine." The screen blacked out.

"Go back to where the five guys come back in the room," DiNozzo said. McGee rewound the feed.

"Freeze that," Gibbs said, and McGee hit the button. Gibbs and DiNozzo both moved closer, examining the expressions on the men's faces.

"The officer's angry, the diplomat's nervous, the force protection guys and the enlisted man are feeling guilty about something," DiNozzo said, pointing at each man in turn. He looked over at Gibbs. There was no disagreement.

"Show me the view in the foyer," Gibbs said, and McGee moved it to that point.

"Close up on her," Gibbs said. McGee zoomed in so Mrs. Aziz's head and upper body were in the middle of the screen. "Move it forward, half speed," he instructed. McGee did. They watched as the slow motion exaggerated her movements.

"She looks as if she is hurting," Ziva said.

"She leaves the dining room with the other woman, but doesn't come back," DiNozzo began pensively. "Twenty minutes later, a server comes looking for help. The help checks out the situation, decides it needs an officer's attention and gets Capt. Davenport. He sends the help and two others who obviously know what's going on back to the dining room, brings Mrs. Aziz to the bathroom, waits while she… cleans up?"

"Something bad happened to her," McGee said needlessly.

"Agreed," Gibbs said.

"How could that have resulted in a connection with the former Secretary of the Navy all these years later? If something did happen, all he did was walk her back."

"It's thin, McGee," DiNozzo said.

"It's something," Gibbs said. "You ID the Marines?" he asked McGee.

"Yes." He hit the clicker again and a row of five military ID photographs appeared. "One only of them stayed in for a full career." He indicated the senior officer. "The other three finished their enlistments and didn't reup. A year, 19 months, and a little over two years later."

"Anything in their jackets?" Gibbs asked.

"No. They were average to above average Marines prior to and following this. Their records were clean, they were all recommended for promotion. All were bypassed."

"Their careers were stalled after this event, but there is no record of them doing anything wrong. How could that happen?" Ziva asked.

"Someone pulling strings," Gibbs said.

"The man who would be king?" DiNozzo asked.

"But why?" Ziva asked. "What did they do? And why was it not reported?"

"You up for a sit down with the former Secretary of the Navy?" DiNozzo asked Gibbs.

"Not yet," Gibbs said. "Whatever happened back then, it gets us no closer to catching the bastards who hurt Amy."

There was no response from his team. Gibbs turned to catch the tail end of their silent consultation.

"So we just ignore it?" McGee asked tentatively.

"No," Gibbs said. "We'll get to it. Just not today." He turned to McGee. "What about the Imam?"

"Khalil Saleh," McGee said, returning to the plasma and clicking the photos of the Marines away. A Maryland driver's license photo of a middle-aged Middle Eastern man replaced them.

"Saudi national, emigrated to the U.S. with his parents at age four. Settled in Dearborn, Michigan, which, incidentally, has the largest population of Middle Eastern Muslims in the country. He attended regular public school through sixth grade, when he switched to a religious school and began an apprenticeship program for clerics. He spent two years at a madrasa in Afghanistan in the 80s, returning to his first post as leader of a small congregation in Tucson. He was a member of only two other congregations before taking on the leadership role here in Washington. He's been arrested three times since 9/11, the first two for getting caught in brawls, released without charge after the locals sorted it out and determined he wasn't the aggressor. The last time was during the Ground Zero Mosque demonstrations in 2010. The arrest was for disturbing the peace, and when he failed to show up for his court date, a misdemeanor warrant was issued. He has no convictions.

"His views are fundamental, but he's not considered an extremist. He doesn't preach America as the Great Satan, but does believe capitalism is the root of most evil, and women are to be subject to men. He's led prayers at the D.C. mosque since 1996."

"FBI file?" Gibbs asked.

"He has one, but only because of the demonstration arrest. They did a cursory background, found no ties to terrorism, and closed the investigation."

Gibbs nodded. Seeing McGee was done, he turned to Ziva.

"Ziva. What'da'ya got?"

"We took photographs of 73 men entering or leaving the mosque," Ziva began. "I was able to identify 22 of them from criminal and immigration databases." She moved over to take the remote from McGee.

"Any connections to the Aziz family?" Gibbs asked.

"None that were readily apparent," Ziva said. "Considering the circumstances under which the family came to America, none of their extended relatives are here, so there are no blood connections. Finding more tenuous connections will take more time."

"Go on," Gibbs said, gesturing at the plasma.

"Of the 22, five were on probation or parole and can be brought in for questioning, with no additional cause necessary. I chose these two as the best with which to begin." After clicking a few buttons, two photographs appeared.

"The one on the left is Samir Nazhde, 42. He spent five years in prison in Virginia for domestic assault, released 18 months ago. He was punishing his wife for having lunch alone with a male friend. She suffered multiple broken bones, a concussion, and lost the sight in one eye."

"Sounds like a winner," DiNozzo said. It wasn't clear if his comment was a sarcastic summation of the man's personality, or a realistic thought on his potential as a suspect. Ziva went on.

"The man on the right is Achmed bin Talal, age 23. He was sentenced to three years for assault and battery on a young man who was caught holding hands with his sister. Bin Talal's sister, that is."

"What happened to the sister?" Gibbs asked.

"She returned to her home in Yemen and was not available to testify. There is no further record of her."

A moment of silence followed that, as each of them imagined the fate that had befallen her.

"What do the other three's records look like?" McGee asked.

"Property crimes, a drunk driving collision causing injury and fraud," Ziva said. "Short prison terms or just probation."

"You got locations on those two?" Gibbs asked of the first two men.

"Yes. Parole is following them, and their home addresses are current as of two weeks and one month ago, respectively. Nazhde lives in Silver Spring, bin Talal in Southeast."

Gibbs nodded. "Give me the info on bin Talal. You and DiNozzo go pick up Nazhde," he said. "Print what you have on the 22 before you go."

Seeing DiNozzo about to speak, Gibbs answered the question he imagined was pending. "Yes, DiNozzo, get cleaned up first."

"Thanks, Boss," DiNozzo said. Ziva gave the remote back to McGee and returned to her own desk, telling the computer to print the files. When the printer between her desk and Gibbs' began shooting out pages, she grabbed her bag and followed DiNozzo out.

"Let's go, McGee," Gibbs said when the printer was done. He gathered the pages and knocked them into alignment. After finding the one on bin Talal, he left the rest on his desk for later.

"What about the imam?" McGee asked as they headed downstairs.

"After we've got bin Talal, we'll swing by the mosque and invite him down for a chat," Gibbs said.

"You think he'll come?" McGee asked.

"He will when I tell him his other option is to spend the next four and a half hours in a squad car on the way to New York City."

"You know someone in New York who'll call in a misdemeanor warrant across state lines?" McGee asked, surprised. When Gibbs just looked at him, he nodded sheepishly. "Of course you do."

**30-30-30-30-30**

Gibbs had hoped his headache would fade with the double dose of aspirin he'd taken. By the time he climbed back into the Charger to head for the address Ziva had provided, he knew it hadn't worked. He leaned over to pop the glove box before unlocking the door for McGee, hoping for pain meds. Agents in their field routinely needed over-the-counter help for aches and pains, and it would not have been unusual for someone to have left a bottle behind. No such luck this time. Gibbs considered finding a drug store and buying some, but rejected it. He'd just have to deal with it.

As they drove toward bin Talal's address, Gibbs noticed McGee casting sidelong glances at him when he thought he could get away with it. After the third sudden turning away, Gibbs decided to get it over with.

"Speak, McGee," he said. His voice came out a little harsher than he intended, and he saw McGee flinch.

"It's nothing," McGee said quickly.

"It's something," Gibbs said more calmly, an echo of their earlier conversation.

"Just... Are you alright, Boss? You look sort of..."

"Hung over?" Gibbs supplied. He stopped at a red light and turned in his seat.

"Oh, no, not at all," McGee quickly back pedaled. "That's not what I meant."

Gibbs gave a slight grunt. "You're getting better with the suspects, Tim, but you still can't lie to me," he said. The light turned and he proceeded. There was nothing from the passenger seat for half a block.

"Are you alright?" McGee repeated finally.

"Just a little hung over," Gibbs confirmed. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Another block, maybe two, and they were approaching the apartment building they were looking for before McGee spoke again.

"I know I'm not Tony, or Ducky, and we're not exactly friends, but if you ever needed anything, you could call me, if you wanted to..." McGee trailed off.

Gibbs parked and shut off the engine. He turned to his junior agent.

"I appreciate you coming to the hospital yesterday morning," Gibbs said. "If I'd needed you or anyone else last night, I would have called. It wasn't that kind of night."

"Okay," McGee said, his tone a little dubious.

Gibbs climbed out of the car, McGee a step behind.

"McGee," Gibbs called across the roof. McGee looked over at him.

"It's not about friends. It's about family," Gibbs said. McGee paused for a second, then nodded, a small, satisfied smile crossing his face.

* * *

...to be continued...


	31. Chapter 31 - One Down?

**Chapter Thirty-one: One Down?**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

Approaching suspects who didn't know they'd been identified went one of two ways the vast majority of the time: They either played completely dumb and docile, or they ran. On rare occasions, they attacked. Always anticipating the rare, McGee and Gibbs took positions on opposite sides of the door. They held credentials in one hand and made sure their guns were clear to be pulled with the other. Being left handed, McGee stood on the right side of the door away from the hinge. He rang the bell.

It took a second ring before steps approached the door. The inner door opened and the man they were looking for was there. He was a couple years older than the mug shot Ziva had pulled, but clearly it was him.

"Achmed bin Talal?" McGee asked.

"Yes?" he asked, curious but unconcerned.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," McGee said, holding up his badge and ID.

"Yes?" he said again.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind stepping outside?" McGee asked.

"I would rather not," he said. "What is this about?" Curiosity turning to caution. McGee glanced at Gibbs, unsure whether to reveal their purpose yet.

"You're on parole, and we're federal agents," Gibbs said. "We'd like to speak with you, out here. Please step outside."

Bin Talal looked at them through the screen, then suddenly dodged backwards and slammed the door. They heard it lock.

"Get the back!" Gibbs ordered as he drew his weapon, and McGee took off running down the length of the small building toward the back. Gibbs yanked open the screen and pressed his ear tightly to the door. He heard nothing.

Gibbs stepped away from the door. The unit was about halfway down the building. There were no side windows, only front and back. McGee had gone to the right so Gibbs drifted to the left, keeping an eye on the front. The guy didn't have many options: He could climb out the back, return to the front, or just hole up. Gibbs truly hoped this didn't turn into a standoff.

"Achmed!" he yelled, pounding on the door with the side of his fist. "Give it up! You got nowhere to go!"

"Gibbs! Back here!" came an answering yell from McGee. Gibbs ran that way. He entered the alley behind the building in time to see bin Talal round the corner at the far end, McGee hot on his heels. Gibbs started after them. He switched his Sig to his left hand and pulled out his cell, quickly dialing the NCIS dispatch center.

"I need local backup, now," Gibbs said after he identified himself. He rattled off the situation, their location and the direction McGee was headed before stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He reached the end of the alley and saw McGee still running. The distance between the agent and his quarry was not changing. He could hear McGee shouting for bin Talal to stop. Gibbs stuffed his Sig into its holster and put his head down, kicking up his own pace. He could feel every foot fall echoing through his head. But at least his knees were holding out.

The two agents chased bin Talal down streets and sidewalks for another four blocks before the welcome sound of sirens reached them. A Metro PD squad car appeared to Gibbs' left. He gestured ahead, and the car accelerated away.

A minute later, it was over. The squad car made a sudden right turn in front of bin Talal as he dashed across a side street. Bin Talal ran right into it, bouncing off the hood and falling backwards. Three steps later, McGee was on him. He tackled the fallen man. The metro cops bailed out of their car and helped McGee handcuff him. Gibbs ran up as they hauled him to his feet.

"Gibbs, NCIS," Gibbs said, flashing his creds. "Thanks." He was only slightly out of breath. Probably the remains of the alcohol. Gibbs was pleased to note that McGee wasn't even breathing heavy.

"Not a problem," the officer who'd been riding shotgun said. He took more than a casual glance at the bruising on Gibbs' face before continuing. "Stokes. What'd he do?"

"Not sure yet," Gibbs said. "He's a parolee. We wanted to ask him a few questions and he ran."

"I did nothing wrong!" bin Talal said. The officers and agents ignored him.

"Your car far from here?" the officer who'd been driving said. She was wearing Supervisor stripes. The first officer was too old to be a rookie. Must be a performance evaluation.

"About five blocks back. McGee'll get it." He held the keys out to McGee.

"You got him?" McGee asked the Sergeant, who was holding bin Talal's other arm. The officer nodded and McGee let him go, taking the keys.

"Be right back," McGee said. He started jogging away.

"McGee!" Gibbs called. McGee turned back. "No hurry."

McGee nodded and dropped to a walk.

"Why are you holding me?" bin Talal asked. "I have done nothing."

"I'm sure Agent Gibbs here will get around to explaining it in due time," the officer holding him said. "Meanwhile, have a seat." She pushed hard against the man's shoulder, forcing his knees to bend and pulling him down to sit on the curb. Bin Talal went down reluctantly.

"Stay," the officer said.

"I am not a dog," bin Talal said.

"Funny, you run like a greyhound," Gibbs said. The officers laughed. Bin Talal mumbled something under his breath.

Anticipating as always, Ziva had given Gibbs the number for bin Talal's parole officer. At the time Gibbs hadn't figured he'd need it. Now that bin Talal had run, Gibbs needed to both report the parole violation and get some background on bin Talal's recent life so he'd be able to work him. He excused himself and took a few steps away to make the call.

The Charger pulled up as Gibbs was completing the call. The parole officer would meet them at the Navy Yard in an hour.

"Thanks again," Gibbs said to the officers as he opened the back door and grabbed bin Talal's arm, pulling him upright.

"Anytime," the supervisor said. Gibbs held bin Talal's joined wrists in one hand and quickly frisked him with the other. Finding nothing of interest on him – not even a wallet or ID – he shoved the still-handcuffed man into the car and shut the door behind him.

They returned to the Navy Yard and secured bin Talal in holding, making sure to keep him far away from Aziz. Gibbs called DiNozzo to see how their pick-up had gone, only to be told Nazhde had not been at home. His parole officer had suggested a couple other places to look, and they were on their way to his mother's house.

"What do we know about bin Talal?" Gibbs asked when he got off the phone.

McGee went to Ziva's computer, shook the mouse to wake it up, and found the work she'd done. He scanned her report before reading Gibbs the pertinent details.

"So he's an otherwise upstanding citizen who got carried away enforcing his religious beliefs," Gibbs summarized when he finished.

"Looks that way," McGee said. "The assault was his only contact with police, before or since. His parole record is clean. No more issues with women since he was released."

"Until Friday night," Gibbs said.

"Right," McGee agreed. Then, hesitantly: "You sure he was involved?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. With his lack of a record, why else would he run?"

"True," McGee said. Gibbs glanced at his watch. A little after 11:00. It wouldn't be wise to start interrogating bin Talal without getting background from the parole officer. But he didn't feel like sitting around waiting for him. He stood up.

"Let's go talk to the Imam," Gibbs said.

"Before prayers?" McGee asked.

"At least we know where he'll be," Gibbs said.

**31-31-31-31-31**

They found the imam alone in the main hall of the mosque, running a vacuum cleaner across the floor. Gibbs paused at the entrance to the hall and had a brief mental argument with himself before deciding to toe off his sneakers. While he had no respect whatsoever for the man they could see across the room who had most certainly engineered Amy's assault, he did have a certain respect for the rites of religion. Especially since it would keep the man from immediate offense, and maybe make what was to come a little easier.

Beside Gibbs, McGee took his cue and removed his own shoes. The two men lined them up by the doorway before crossing into the large room. The imam made a turn at the end of the room and started back their way, noticing them. He wasn't tall, and under the robes he was wearing, it was hard to tell his weight. But his face was narrow, made more so by the long beard that covered his chin from ear to ear. His skin was dark tan, his hair black. With a taqiyah on his head and the white robes he wore, he looked exactly as Gibbs would have expected a middle eastern cleric to look, even if he hadn't seen the man's picture during McGee's presentation that morning.

"Gentlemen, how can I help you this morning?" he said. Gibbs saw him notice their lack of footwear and nod slightly. Gibbs nodded back.

"Are you Khalil Saleh?" Gibbs asked.

"I am," he acknowledged. The imam give him a full once-over, staring for a long moment at the bruises. That was getting old, real fast.

"Special Agents McGee and Gibbs. NCIS," McGee said. He produced his credentials.

"I am sorry, what agency are you with?" Saleh asked.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," McGee explained with only a hint of weariness.

"You will not find any sailors here, my friends," the imam said lightly.

"We're actually here to speak with you," McGee said.

"Regarding what?" Saleh said.

"You have an outstanding warrant for failure to appear to answer for a charge of disturbing the peace in Manhattan," McGee said. The man blinked, frowned, cocked his head slightly.

"What does that have to do with the navy?" he asked.

"We'd like you to come with us, clear some things up," McGee said, ignoring his question.

"I am sorry," he said, honestly regretful. "I cannot. Midday prayers will begin soon."

"I'm sure there's someone else who can lead prayers," McGee said, trying to be reasonable.

"With such short notice, that will be most difficult," he said. "Perhaps I could arrange for someone to stand in for me tomorrow. Would that be sufficient?"

"No," Gibbs said. "We'd like you to come now." His tone made it clear they were done discussing it.

"How long might this take?" the imam asked.

"If you come down to the Navy Yard with us now, you could be back this afternoon," McGee said.

"And if I refuse to accompany you?"

"We'll arrest you and arrange your extradition to New York City," Gibbs said simply.

"It's more than four hours there, plus the time it takes to do paperwork before we leave," McGee said. "There won't be a judge available until at least morning, so you'll have to spend the night in custody. If they release you tonight, which isn't likely considering how long you've been dodging the warrant, you'll have to find your own way back here. Could be late Monday or even Tuesday before you make it back."

"Assuming they don't hold you over," Gibbs added. "Given the political climate right now, it could be a couple weeks before you make bail."

"What is this about?" the imam asked, his tone becoming more aggressive.

"We just have a few questions we'd like you to answer," McGee said. "It won't take long."

"Can you not ask your questions here?" he asked.

"No," Gibbs said again, and reached behind himself for his handcuffs. As soon as they appeared, the imam took a half step back.

"There's no need for that, surely," he said quickly. "I will accompany you to your office. Allow me to arrange for a substitute, and contact an attorney."

"You're welcome to do that, of course," McGee said. "But you're not under arrest."

"Am I not? Your partner was about to handcuff me," Saleh said, looking back to Gibbs.

"Was I?" Gibbs asked. The cuffs had disappeared, as if by magic, and Gibbs' hands were in his pockets. Saleh looked at him, a shrewd expression tilting his features.

"This is one to be wary of," he said of Gibbs.

"Probably good advice," Gibbs said. "Shall we?" he gestured toward the door.

"I must go back to my office, to contact another teacher," he said.

"We'll join you," McGee said.

Though Saleh clearly didn't think that was a good idea, he allowed the agents to accompany him through the prayer hall into a passageway beyond. Their socked feet made swishing sounds on the carpet.

As they entered a small office at the back of the building, Gibb cast his thoughts ahead to what was about to happen. A man who spoke multiple languages they didn't, who surely knew what they were actually here for, who had most certainly arranged for Amy's death, was about to make a phone call. Not that Gibbs could stop him: He wasn't under arrest and had every right to call his lawyer, or anyone else he wanted to. Still, Gibbs didn't like it. He turned to his junior agent.

"McGee: Leave a message at Ziva's desk. Tell her we're on the way," he said.

"At her desk?" McGee asked. He was clearly confused. They both knew Ziva wasn't there. Gibbs stared hard at him as Saleh sat behind a cluttered desk and picked up the phone handset. He turned his chair so his back was mostly to the agents.

"Yes, McGee, call Ziva's desk, now," he said. Gibbs tapped his ear with his forefinger, then lowered his hand, pointing at the imam's back as he did. There was a second of blankness before McGee suddenly got it.

"Oh, right," he said. He quickly withdrew his smartphone and worked it before turning toward the imam with the phone slightly away from his head. The imam began speaking in an Arabic language. McGee waited, ostensibly while it rang, then spoke briefly before lowering the phone.

"I told her," McGee said quietly, deferring to Saleh, who was still speaking rapidly. Gibbs frowned at him, and McGee gave him a nod of reassurance. Gibbs could only hope McGee'd gotten the right message.

"He was not available," Saleh said when he hung up the phone. "I will try someone else."

He made a second phone call. Another minute of conversation, and he hung up, turning back to them.

"I am ready," he said.

"After you," McGee said. They returned to the prayer hall, where all three men put their shoes back on before stepping outside.

There was no conversation on the way back to the Navy Yard. Saleh sat in the back seat, occasionally glancing out the window at the gray day, but mostly staring at his hands. Gibbs took the car once again through the coffee drive-thru. He offered the imam a cup, which the man declined. McGee did likewise, so Gibbs bought himself another large and drove on.

His phone rang as he entered the parking garage. Gibbs pulled it out and checked the screen: Withheld. Gibbs answered anyway. It was the parole officer. He'd arrived at the secure gate to the Navy Yard. The gate guard had refused him entry, saying no one had left visitor's clearance. Gibbs said he'd take care of it, and they'd meet at the NCIS front door in a few minutes. Hanging up, Gibbs immediately called the security office and cleared the man to enter.

McGee took Saleh to interrogation while Gibbs got off the elevator on the first floor and went to the main entrance. The agent was standing outside.

"Gibbs?" he asked when Gibbs pushed open the front door. Gibbs nodded and ushered him in.

"Hayden, CSOSA," the man introduced himself, pronouncing it "C-Sosa." He offered a hand. Hayden was a young black man, bald-headed with a tightly-cropped full beard, obviously in good shape. He was as casually dressed as Gibbs, in jeans and a t-shirt under an official field jacket. Gibbs shook. He thought it interesting that Hayden's gaze stayed on Gibbs' eyes and didn't stray to the bruises.

"Thanks for coming down," Gibbs said.

"Sure thing. What'd he do to the Navy?" he asked as they rode up to the third floor.

"We're pretty sure he was involved in stoning a teenage girl."

"The story in the paper?" Hayden asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. They entered the squad room.

"Wow. Doesn't really surprise me, if the story's true. She was 16 and pregnant?"

"Yeah," Gibbs repeated.

"That's what he what he was in for, you know, cultural crime."

"I heard," Gibbs said. He gestured at DiNozzo's chair, taking his own.

"So how can I help?" Hayden asked.

Before Gibbs could answer, McGee came hurrying around the corner from the back hall, head down, looking at his phone.

"I recorded the calls he made on my phone," McGee said, then looked up. "Oh, sorry," he said.

"Bin Talal's parole officer," Gibbs said. "Special Agent McGee, Officer Hayden."

"Nice to meet you," McGee said and they shook hands.

"Call Ziva, play it for her," Gibbs said. He was pleased that McGee had not only caught on to what Gibbs had been trying to tell him at the mosque, but had improved on the technology.

While McGee made the call, Gibbs pulled a bottle of Excedrin out of his desk drawer. He took two of the pills, downing them with coffee. That ought to help.

As Gibbs and Hayden watched, McGee spoke to Ziva for a minute, explaining what they'd recorded and why. He held his cell up next to his desk phone receiver and played the recording. When it was done, he spoke to her for several minutes before hanging up.

"They struck out at Nazhde's mother's house. They're headed for the mosque, hoping to catch him at prayer."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. "What'd he say?" he asked.

"The first call was to arrange for a replacement, like he said. The second call was to someone he didn't name, but talked to like a friend. He told the friend he was being taken in, said he thought it was probably about Friday night. There was a long pause while he listened to something, then he said 'you know what to do' and ended the call."

"Perfect," Gibbs said.

"Means he knows what we wanted, and he's probably involved in the cover-up," McGee said.

"Yeah, it does," Gibbs said. "And he had contingency plans in place in case we showed up." He turned to Hayden.

"Tell me about bin Talal," he said.

* * *

...to be continued...


	32. Chapter 32 - Contingency Plans

**Chapter Thirty-two: Contingency Plans**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

_McGee took Saleh to interrogation while Gibbs got off the elevator on the first floor and went to the main entrance. A young black man, bald-headed with a tightly cropped full beard was standing outside. __He was as casually dressed as Gibbs, in jeans and a t-shirt under an official field jacket._

_"Gibbs?" he asked when Gibbs pushed open the front door. Gibbs nodded and ushered him in._

_"Hayden, CSOSA," the man introduced himself, pronouncing it "C-Sosa." He offered a hand which Gibbs shook. Gibbs thought it interesting that Hayden's gaze stayed on Gibbs' eyes and didn't stray to the bruises._

_"Thanks for coming down," Gibbs said._

_"Sure thing. What'd he do to the Navy?" he asked as they rode up to the third floor._

_"We're pretty sure he was involved in stoning a teenage girl."_

_"The story in the paper?" Hayden asked, surprised._

_"Yeah," Gibbs said. They entered the squad room._

_"Wow. Doesn't really surprise me, if the story's true. She was 16 and pregnant?"_

_"Yeah," Gibbs repeated._

_"That's what he what he was in for, you know, cultural crime."_

_"I heard," Gibbs said. He gestured at DiNozzo's chair, taking his own._

_"So how can I help?" Hayden asked._

_Before Gibbs could answer, McGee came hurrying around the corner from the back hall, head down, looking at his phone._

_"I recorded the calls he made on my phone," McGee said, then looked up. "Oh, sorry," he said._

_"Bin Talal's parole officer," Gibbs said. "Special Agent McGee, Officer Hayden."_

_"Nice to meet you," McGee said and they shook hands._

_McGee called Ziva and played the recording for her. When he hung up, Gibbs asked "What'd he say?"_

_"The first call was to arrange for a replacement, like he said. The second call was to someone he didn't name, but talked to like a friend. He told the friend he was being taken in, said he thought it was probably about Friday night. There was a long pause while he listened to something, then he said 'you know what to do' and ended the call."_

_"Perfect," Gibbs said._

_"Means he knows what we wanted, and he's probably involved in the cover-up," McGee said._

_"Yeah, it does," Gibbs said. "And he had contingency plans in place in case we showed up." He turned to Hayden._

_"Tell me about bin Talal," he said._

* * *

"Nice enough kid," Hayden started. "Never missed an appointment. Good job, only one residence since he was released. He served a year and a half of a three to five, early release. Did a year on home monitoring, no problems. Other than a few of his cultural beliefs, he's alright. I wish all my parolees were as easy as he is."

"He a leader or follower?" Gibbs asked.

"Follower, most definitely," Hayden said. "If he did what you say, it's because someone told him to. The assault that got him put away was supposedly at the direction of his father back in Yemen."

"Would it have had to be anyone special, who told him to do it?" McGee asked.

"You mean, would he have followed anyone?"

"Yes," McGee said.

"Maybe," Hayden said. "But considering the consequence of the last time, it would probably have to be someone important, religiously. Was he related to your victim?"

"No," McGee said.

"He probably wouldn't have gone after a non-relative unless he believed it was the will of God."

"We're looking at the imam at the mosque," Gibbs said.

"That would certainly do it. In Islam, the imam is as close to Allah as one can get."

"He express any remorse over what he did?" Gibbs asked.

"Not over the assault. He only regrets that we 'unbelievers' thought what he did was wrong." Hayden said. "He thinks we're all condemned to die in sin, and he feels bad for us. He believes the guy he assaulted deserved everything he got and more. And he's never been afraid to tell anyone who'll listen."

"How'd he get parole?" McGee wondered aloud.

"Overcrowding played a part," Hayden said. "The psychologist who prepared his suitability report decided since his sister was gone, and he didn't have any other female relatives in the area, he wasn't a danger to anyone else." Hayden paused, then said what they were all thinking: "Guess he got it wrong."

"You think he'll talk?" Gibbs asked.

"Maybe," Hayden said again. "You'll have to prop him up a bit, convince him you see it from his side. If he thinks you believe his position has value, he might even brag about it. He'd be pleased to find an understanding ear among the non-believers. He tells me all the time how hard it is, living here among the infidels."

"Why wasn't he deported?" McGee asked. It was a good question. Normally, immigrants convicted of felonies served their time and were immediately sent back to their country of origin.

"It was part of his plea deal: If he successfully completes the requirements of his post-release program, he gets to stay."

"So we threaten that, it might get us some traction," Gibbs mused.

"Probably."

"On the other hand, if he did this, he goes back to prison, and his deal goes away, right?" McGee asked.

"Absolutely," Hayden agreed.

"Might be why he ran," Gibbs said. "If he'd gotten away, who'd he have gone to?"

"There's a couple of guys he hangs around with. I've got their names in his file back at the office."

"Does he have any family in the area?" McGee asked.

"A younger brother, two male cousins."

"How many of them attend the D.C. mosque?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know. Not part of my background. Why?"

"The stoning was done by a group of men, at least seven."

"I'll get you their names," Hayden said. "How'd you get on to bin Talal, anyway?"

McGee looked to Gibbs, unsure how much they should reveal.

"He's one of a group of men we identified from the mosque who might have been involved," Gibbs said. "Nothing specific. We were just going to chat with him when he decided to run."

"And you picked up the imam?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's here too," Gibbs confirmed.

"Pretty bold, arresting a Muslim holy man these days. How strong's your evidence?"

"He's not under arrest," Gibbs said. "He agreed to come in."

"Love to know how you pulled that off," Hayden said. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Just get us those names, and if you wouldn't mind sharing your file on him, that'd be good too."

Hayden stood. "I can get it to you by email this afternoon. Hard copy might take a little longer."

"Email's fine," Gibbs said. McGee wrote his email address and his cell number on the back of one of his cards and handed it over.

"Thanks for your help," Gibbs said.

"Good luck," Hayden said. "The front door lock itself?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Be sure it closes."

Hayden agreed and headed out.

Gibbs decided to start with the imam. Bin Talal would be here until they were done with him. Saleh might decide to leave, or lawyer up, at any time.

With the headache still taking some of his attention, and knowing he was far from the top of his game, Gibbs decided to invite McGee to join him in interrogation. He could tell McGee was surprised, but didn't explain. They walked in together and Gibbs took his usual seat with his back to the mirror, facing Saleh. McGee took the chair at the end of the table. Gibbs had left his coffee behind and felt a little naked with not even a file folder in his hand. Still, he knew he wouldn't need any props for this job: On his part, because the details of the case were seared into his brain. For Saleh, because he had most certainly ordered Amy's death and likely wouldn't be swayed by pictures of her injuries.

"You know why you're here?" Gibbs began.

"Not for certain," Saleh said. "But I know it has nothing to do with a warrant for disturbing the peace."

"You know Liban Aziz and his family?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Saleh said, showing no surprise at the topic. "They are members of my congregation."

"You know his daughter, Amaya."

"Yes. Unfortunate thing, what happened to her," he said.

"You know about that, too?" Gibbs asked. He was surprised Saleh had brought it up first.

"I do," he said. "Madame Aziz called me yesterday. She was quite distraught."

"What did she tell you?" Gibbs asked.

"She told me that Amaya was in the hospital and was not expected to live."

"She tell you how Amaya was hurt?"

"It was not necessary. I already knew," he said.

Gibbs stared at him, then glanced at McGee. It was getting more difficult to hide his surprise over how this was going. When he turned back at Saleh, the imam was looking at him with a bland expression on his face.

"How did you know?" Gibbs asked.

"I was made aware shortly after it happened," Saleh said.

"Really?" Gibbs said, raising his eyebrows, just curious.

"Yes. I received a call saying she had been stoned."

A small sound of drawn breath from McGee made Gibbs glance that way again. The young agent's face was almost expressionless. Almost. Only because Gibbs knew him so well did he notice the tightness around his eyes and in the corners of his jaw that revealed his anger. Gibbs narrowed his eyes, silently telling him to keep it together, then turned back to Saleh.

"Who called you?" Gibbs asked.

"I am afraid I cannot say."

"Why not?" Gibbs asked.

"It would betray a confidence."

"You're not a priest," Gibbs said. He knew the priest-penitent privilege wasn't allowed only to Catholics, but he wanted to see if Saleh would claim it.

"I am not," Saleh agreed. "But my congregants sometimes tell me things in confidence that they expect me to keep to myself. This was one of those things."

"So a member of your congregation told you about a crime, and you're not going to tell us who it was," Gibbs said.

"He did not tell me about a crime," Saleh said. "What happened to Amaya was not a crime."

"She was beaten with rocks, nearly to death," Gibbs said tightly. "You don't think that was a crime?"

"It was unfortunate, but it was not a crime," Saleh confirmed.

"What was it?" Gibbs asked.

"It was punishment ordained by Allah," he said.

"Punishment for what?" Gibbs asked, keeping his voice level through sheer force of will.

"She prostituted herself, defiled her body," he said. "The punishment for that sin is death."

"Death," Gibbs repeated.

"Yes. Unfortunate, but necessary."

"Why?" McGee asked, making both men turn to look at him.

"Why?" Saleh repeated.

"Why was it necessary?" McGee asked. The pleading note in his voice was so faint Gibbs was certain Saleh wouldn't recognize it for what it was.

"She defiled herself. The Law says she was no longer worthy of life."

"And you enforce the law," Gibbs said, bringing it back to where they needed it to go.

"That is not my job," Saleh said. "My job is to teach the Law. Not to enforce it."

"Who does the enforcing?" Gibbs asked.

"Honorable men who know what is necessary and are willing to follow the Law even here, where it is not understood," Saleh said. He nodding, looking pleased with that assessment. Gibbs stared at him, fighting his own twitching muscles as they struggled to react, to strike out and wipe that look off the imam's face.

"Why don't you tell us who these honorable men are?" Gibbs said. "Let us congratulate them."

Saleh actually smiled. "I am sorry, Special Agent Gibbs, but I am certain that is not your intention. I believe that information will have to stay between myself and Al-Hasib."

"Al-Hasib?" Gibbs asked.

"God, the Bringer of Judgment," Saleh said.

The agents stared at the imam, a man who was supposed to bring God's message of love and peace to his followers, and each imagined what they'd like to do to him, given the chance. It was McGee who broke the silence.

"The men of your congregation wouldn't have instituted judgment like that, here, in America, without instruction from their leader," he said. It was a good point, Gibbs thought.

"They know the Law. They know what their responsibilities are. When what Amaya had done became known, they moved swiftly to remove her evil example from our midst. It was the proper thing to do."

"She was just a kid!" McGee said sharply. "What happened to forgiveness, to learning from mistakes?"

"She was mature enough to know she must keep herself clean until marriage. And some sins cannot be forgiven. Once she defiled herself, it was impossible for her to become clean again."

Gibbs' phone rang in his pocket, choking off what he'd been about to say. He stared at the imam as he grabbed at it, snapping it open with far more than the necessary amount of force.

"Gibbs!" he barked, his eyes never leaving the smug look.

"This is Lance Corporal McInerney, on the detail at Summerfield Housing," a male voice said. "We were supposed to call you if something happened?"

Gibbs' focus instantly switched to the instrument in his hand.

"What happened?" he said.

"We got a message from the little girl."

"What's it say?" he asked.

"Help," McInerney said.

"That's it?" Gibbs asked.

"It's an envelope attached to a rag doll. The envelope says 'Tell Agent Gibbs we need help, now.' Then there's a P.S. that says 'Very, very important: No one can open this envelope but Agent Gibbs'."

"Open it," he said, and stood. He motioned McGee to join him and they stepped out of interrogation. There was the sound of tearing paper and a pause while the Marine read what was inside.

"She says the people who came over are making them pack bags, that they're going to run away. Her mother is crying, doesn't want to go..." he paused. "She thinks the people are going to hurt her."

"What people?" Gibbs demanded. He picked up the pace, jogging into the squadroom. "Gear up, McGee," he ordered as he rounded his desk. McGee, confused, nonetheless reached to unlock his desk drawer and retrieve his sidearm.

"Two men and two women arrived about half an hour ago. We watched the lady welcome them into the house, figured they were expected."

"You let them in?" Gibbs demanded. He braced the phone against his shoulder and unlocked his own desk drawer, slamming the clip into his Sig and jamming the weapon into its holster.

"They looked like friends," McInerney objected. Gibbs grabbed his jacket and gestured at McGee to go.

"Anyone comes out of the house, you stop them," Gibbs instructed. "Make sure there's no back door. I'll be there in 15 minutes." He slapped the phone shut.

"What's going on, Boss?" McGee asked as Gibbs raced for the stairs, the younger agent on his heels.

"Contingency plans," Gibbs said. "A message from Sadie."

He stiff-armed the door to the garage and it flew open. They raced to the Charger and climbed inside. Before McGee even had his seatbelt on, the car was rocketing out of the lot.

* * *

...to be continued...


	33. Chapter 33 - More Lies

**Chapter Thirty-three: More Lies**

**by joykatleen**

* * *

At the house, Gibbs slid the Charger to a stop behind a Marine Hummer at the curb and threw open his door.

"Gibbs, NCIS. Update?" Gibbs demanded of the young Marine who was standing outside. His name tape confirmed he was the one who'd called.

"None. My partner's watching the back, no one's come out. No sounds of distress from the house. No more messages."

"Exactly what happened?" he asked.

"Like I told you, four people came walking down the street, from that direction." McInerney pointed toward the corner behind them. "Two men, two women, dressed like they just stepped out of Kandahar. They knocked, my partner moved up closer. The lady of the house answered the door and greeted them with a friendly tone. He backed off. We figured they were expected. About 15 minutes later, this doll came flying out of the window we were warned about and landed on the hood." He reached through the Hummer's open window and brought out a simply designed rag doll dressed as a Muslim girl. It was wearing a pink headscarf, a pink and yellow dress, pink shoes and blue leggings.

"Did you see the girl?" Gibbs asked.

"No. By the time we looked up, the blinds were coming down."

"Let me see the letter," Gibbs said. The Marine handed him that, too. Gibbs quickly read Sadie's oversized handwriting. It was as McInerney had said.

"Alright. We're going in. Tell your partner to stay back there."

"You want help?" McInerney said. Gibbs considered it.

"Back up only. Follow my lead. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the Marine said. Gibbs put the doll back into the truck and they went to the front door. Gibbs drew his Sig and held it down next to his leg. He saw McGee do the same. After a second, the Marine followed suit.

Gibbs knocked hard on the door. There was no response, and he knocked again. The door opened just far enough for a man to look around it.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Federal agents. Open the door," McGee said.

"Why?" the man asked. Gibbs used his left arm to shove hard at the door, forcing the man back into the house.

"You cannot do this!" the man objected as two agents and one Marine came barreling through the door.

"We just did," Gibbs said. "Mrs. Aziz?" he called loudly. "It's Gibbs from NCIS."

They moved down the narrow hall, the man who'd answered the door objecting all the way. In the living room, a woman was sitting in the chair Aziz had occupied the first time they'd been here. Both the man who'd answered the door and the woman were clearly Middle Eastern: The man wore dark slacks and a loose tan shirt with a short full beard, the woman was dressed in a dark blue abaya. Her head was covered, but not her stern face. She was clearly unhappy at their presence.

Sadie and Yameen were sitting on the couch, holding hands. Sadie was crying, and Yameen had his other arm around her shoulders. He was biting his lower lip. The little girl's eyes widened on recognizing Gibbs, and she squeezed Yameen's hand hard. A pair of small suitcases were sitting nearby.

"Hey, Sadie," Gibbs said, keeping his gun out of sight behind his leg. "Where's your mom?"

"Up in her room," Sadie said softly. "Are you here to save us?"

Gibbs gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Are there other people with her?"

Sadie nodded. "She's really scared of them."

The women said something harshly to Sadie, who flinched and shrank back into the couch.

"It's gonna be alright," Gibbs said. "Lance Corporal McInerney is going to stay with you while I go talk to your mom." He turned to the Marine.

"No one goes anywhere. And she," he pointed at the woman, "stays quiet." Looking to the woman, he continued. "You understand me? You say nothing to these kids, or I'll find a reason to have you declared a terrorist and shipped off to Guantanamo Bay. Got it?"

She sneered at him, and Gibbs nodded in satisfaction. She got it.

"Handcuff them together," Gibbs instructed McGee, referring to the man who'd answered the door. McGee used his right hand to slip his handcuffs off his belt, while at the same time turning his body away from the children. He holstered his weapon.

"Over there," he pointed to the chair.

"You cannot do this! We have done nothing!" the man objected.

"Now!" McGee demanded. The man went, reluctantly, and McGee snapped one end of the cuffs on his wrist. He pulled the man down to the floor so he could thread the cuff through the leg of the end table next to the chair and attached the other end to the woman's wrist.

"You stay quiet, too," McGee told the man, who glared up at him.

"We'll be right back," Gibbs told McInerney.

Out of sight of the living room, both agents raised their guns again and climbed to the second floor. They paused at the landing. A bathroom straight ahead, a bedroom on each side. Gibbs listened to the house. He heard movement on the floor above. Coupled with their assessment of the house's layout from their first visit – that the master suite was on the top floor – they proceeded upwards.

The third floor landing was a small foyer, with a closet door to their immediate left and an open bedroom door further down. They could hear low voices and the hitching breath of someone trying hard not to cry.

"Mrs. Aziz? It's Gibbs. Are you alright?"

"I am fine," came the shaky response a moment later. "Please go away."

"Can't do that. We're coming in," Gibbs said, and stepped through the door. He kept his gun ready, but down.

The lady of the house was sitting on the edge of the bed with an open suitcase next to her. A man was leaning against the wall near the head of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. He could have been a twin to the man downstairs, from his wardrobe to the annoyed look on his face. A woman stepped out of the closet and stood in the doorway, a stack of clothing draped over her arm.

"What's going on in here?" Gibbs asked. He felt McGee's presence at his back. Mrs. Aziz turned to look at them. There were fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

"We are fine," she said, but her eyes told the true story. She was scared.

"Going somewhere?" McGee asked.

"What business is it of yours?" the man demanded.

"Mrs. Aziz?" Gibbs said. "Who are these people?"

"Who are you?" the man said.

"Federal agents. Answer the question," McGee said.

"We are friends of the family."

"You got a name?" Gibbs asked. A brief pause while the man considered his options.

"I am Aasif Mandvi," he said finally, not seeing any. "This is my wife."

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked.

"Mrs. Aziz and her children are coming to stay with my family. It is not good for her to be alone at a time like this. She asked us to come."

"Is that true?" Gibbs asked her. She said nothing. Mandvi said something to her in her language, and she turned to Gibbs.

"Yes. I asked them to come," she said. "It is not good for us to be here without my husband." Her voice was flat. There was no doubt in Gibbs' mind she was repeating what she had been told to say. He was just as certain she didn't want to go with them. The only question was how to stop that from happening without putting her and the kids further at risk.

Just that fast, the beginnings of a plan appeared in Gibbs' mind. "We're here to take Yameen and Sadiyah into protective custody," he said.

Mrs. Aziz drew a hard breath but said nothing.

"For what reason?" Mandvi demanded. The other woman set the clothing down on the dresser. Like the woman downstairs, she was wearing a head scarf with her face exposed. It was expressionless, like she was watching something of little consequence to her.

"We know you and the kids don't know what happened to Amaya. But we need to be sure they're safe from whoever hurt her."

"The children will be fine," Mandvi said. "You are not needed here."

Gibbs ignored him. "You'll need to come with us, to fill out papers," he said.

"She does not wish to go with you," he said.

"She doesn't have a choice," McGee said. "Children's Services will need some information from a parent before the kids can be placed." Gibbs was once again pleased at McGee's quick pick-up of his lead. Watching Mrs. Aziz, Gibbs saw something shift in her eyes. He saw it, but he wasn't sure what it meant.

"Once the paperwork is done, she can come back," Gibbs said. Mrs. Aziz tilted her head slightly, considering.

"You cannot just take the children away," Mandvi objected.

"We can, and we are, right now," Gibbs said. "It's time to go, ma'am."

Mrs. Aziz stood. Mandvi barked something at her and grabbed her arm. Gibbs instantly raised his weapon.

"Let her go," he ordered. Mandvi did not comply.

"Let her go, now," McGee repeated, his own weapon up.

Facing two steady guns, Mandvi let her go, but did not move away.

"You cannot take her," he stated. His tone was only slightly less firm than it had been.

"Mrs. Aziz, go downstairs. The kids are waiting for you," Gibbs said.

She looked over at Mandvi. He said something else to her, and she looked back to the agents, clearly torn about what to do.

"Mrs. Aziz, I want you to listen to me," Gibbs said. He kept his gun up and pointed at Mandvi, who hadn't moved. "Sadiyah and Yameen need to come with us, so we can keep them safe. You need to fill out paperwork. That's all. And nothing he says is going to change that. You fill out the paper, you'll be done in an hour or two. Do you understand?"

She stared at him, then said something softly to the man next to her. He twitched, but did not reply. Mrs. Aziz took a tentative step sideways. When nothing bad happened, she quickened her pace and headed for the door. Both agents raised their weapons in turn to clear the line of fire as she passed.

"McGee, go with her," Gibbs said. When he was alone in the room with the two strangers, he lowered his gun.

"Whatever your business was, it's done. You can go now," he said.

"Where are you taking the children?" the man asked.

"Move," Gibbs said. "You too, ma'am." He gestured out of the room.

"You have no right..." the man began.

"Now," Gibbs said, and this time pointed with his Sig. Mandvi hesitated before moving toward the door. He indicated the woman should go ahead of him.

They silently descended the stairs. When they reached the foyer, Mandvi turned toward the living room.

"No," Gibbs said. "You stay here."

"My colleagues..."

"Will join you in a moment. Stay." Gibbs passed them and headed down the hall, keeping an ear focused behind. He holstered his gun before entering the living room.

"Any trouble?" he asked McInerney.

"Not a peep," he said.

"Good. Get your partner in here." McInerney raised his radio. Gibbs checked out the room. Mrs. Aziz was sitting on the couch next to Sadie, who was still clinging to her brother's hand. The strangers were still glaring. The kids were still nervous, but Sadie had stopped crying.

"How you doing, Sadie?" Gibbs asked.

"Okay," the little girl said softly.

"Good. Won't be long now," he said, and she nodded solemnly.

"McGee, uncuff them," he said. McGee did as the other Marine appeared in the entryway. Gibbs glanced at him.

"Lance Corporal, escort these people off base," he said.

"Yes sir," he said. "This way," he gestured out the hall.

"You cannot do this," the man McGee had released protested one more time.

"This way," the young Marine said more firmly. Gibbs rested a hand on the butt of his weapon and tossed his head that way. Clearly reluctant, the two of them followed the order.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Gibbs turned his focus to Mrs. Aziz. She was looking at him with fear in her eyes. But it wasn't the same fear as he'd seen upstairs. He couldn't have said how it was different, but it was. He crouched in front of her, feeling his knees object.

"Where were they taking you?" he asked.

"I do not know," she said. "They came and said we had to go with them. Just as you are doing."

"It didn't look like you wanted to go," Gibbs said, ignoring her implied accusation.

"I do not want to go with you, either," she said. "Why can we not just stay here, in our home?"

Gibbs glanced at the kids, who were both watching him intently. "Do you think it's safe to stay here?" he asked. "Whoever sent these people will send them back."

"They will not hurt us," she insisted.

"Then why are you so afraid?" Gibbs asked gently. She had no answer to that.

"We're going to take Yameen and Sadie now. We'd like you to come," Gibbs said.

"I have a choice?" she asked.

"Yes," McGee said from behind Gibbs. "We can take the kids for their safety because of what happened to Amy, but we can't force you to go. Even if it would be safer for you to come with us."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"I promised Amy," Gibbs said. "And Sadie, too," he added, glancing over at the little girl with a smile.

"It's okay, momma," Sadie said. "He's a good man. He'll take care of us."

Mrs. Aziz looked over at her youngest. When she looked back at Gibbs, he saw resignation, and beneath it, relief.

"How long will we be gone?" she asked.

"As long as it takes," Gibbs said. "You should probably finish packing."

**33-33-33-33-33**

Gibbs put the family in the back of the Charger and their suitcases in the trunk. It was a tight fit, but Gibbs didn't want to wait for another vehicle. He retrieved Sadie's doll from the Humvee and handed it to her without comment. She took it, glanced sideways at her mother – who said nothing – then hugged it to herself with a smile.

After dismissing the Marines, Gibbs drove the family back to the Navy Yard, stopping on the way for burgers, fries and milk shakes to go. Gibbs sent McGee to check on DiNozzo and David, and took the family to the conference room to eat. He wanted to take a soft run at the getting something more out of them. He hoped Mrs. Aziz might feel freer to talk now that they were out of the house.

Gibbs dealt out the food and dug into his own. He idly wondered if Mrs. Aziz would take her veil off to eat. She didn't, instead twisting off small bites of her food with her fingers and slipping them under the cloth.

"How are you, Sadie?" he asked after a protracted silence broken only by the sounds of eating. Both kids looked up at him.

"Fine," Sadie said. Her doll was sitting on the empty chair to her left.

"Burger good?" he asked. She nodded.

"How 'bout you, Yameen? You okay?"

The boy nodded without speaking. The silence returned until – to Gibbs' surprise – Yameen broke it a few minutes later.

"What are you going to do with us?" he asked.

"Me? Nothing," Gibbs said. "Just gonna make sure you're safe, that's all."

"We are not in danger," Yameen said.

"Looked like it at the house. Your mom and your sister were pretty scared."

Yameen made a noise of dismissal that made him sound eerily like his father. "They were not going to hurt us. They just wanted us to come with them."

"Where to?" Gibbs asked, casually, like it didn't matter. He ate a fry.

"They were going to take us home," he said, then glanced at his mother. Gibbs expected her to stop him. Mrs. Aziz said nothing.

"Home?" Gibbs asked.

"Back to Tughay, where my family has lived for generations."

"Ah," Gibbs said.

"I don't want to go," Sadie piped up. "I want to stay here."

"We can't, stupid, not without Father."

At that, Mrs. Aziz did speak, a short instruction in her language. It wasn't sharp, and had the ring of something often said. Even without Ziva here to translate, Gibbs guessed from Yameen's response what he'd been told and took a chance.

"It's not nice to call your sister names," he said, and Yameen's eyes widened. Gibbs hid his smile.

"Is that true?" Sadie asked. She took a long slurp of strawberry shake.

"Yes. It's truly not nice," Gibbs said seriously. Sadie smiled back.

"No, silly," she said. "Is it true we have to go back home because Father got in trouble?"

"Probably not," Gibbs said. Yameen looked at him, shaking his head.

"Of course we do," Yameen said with all the confidence a teenager could muster. "We are only here because the Navy needed Father. If he can no longer work there, we cannot stay."

"Why wouldn't he be able to keep working here?" Gibbs asked innocently.

"Because of..." he stopped suddenly, glared at him, then took a hard bite of his burger. The kid was pretty good, Gibbs had to give him that.

"Is Father in jail?" Sadie asked.

"Not really," Gibbs said. "He's here."

All three of them suddenly froze, staring at him. Mrs. Aziz was the first to speak.

"Here?" she asked. The fear, which had almost disappeared from her eyes, was back.

"In our lockup," Gibbs said, watching her.

She considered that. "Does he know we are here?" she asked.

"No," Gibbs said.

"What's a lockup?" Sadie asked, her voice small.

"It's like a little jail, for only a couple of people. It's where we put people we think did something bad but we're not ready to send them to real jail yet."

"Will we have to see him?" Sadie asked.

"No," Gibbs said again.

"Why is he here?" Yameen asked.

"We brought him down last night to talk to him about what happened to your sister."

"I know. But why is he still here? Were you not taking him to real jail?" Yameen asked. His voice was higher, nervous.

Gibbs decided to roll the dice. "We don't have enough evidence to put him in jail. With what we know so far, we can only hold him for 72 hours before we have to let him go."

Sadie started counting on her fingers. "That's three days," Gibbs supplied before she finished.

She looked up at him. "That's tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow at midnight," Gibbs confirmed. He waited.

"So tomorrow night he will go home?" Yameen asked. It was hard to tell if he thought that was a good idea or not.

"He will, unless we get more information," Gibbs said.

"What kind of information?" Sadie asked.

Gibbs glanced at Mrs. Aziz. She was still staring intently at him, still saying nothing.

"Information to prove he had something to do with hurting Amy," Gibbs said.

"Why do you care?" Yameen asked. "This is not your trouble."

"Yes, it is," Gibbs said. "No one gets to hurt one of my friends like that and get away with it."

"Amaya was not your friend," Yameen said. "And besides, her punishment was required by the Law. She should not have done what she did."

Gibbs was considering what to say to that when Mrs. Aziz suddenly spoke.

"Can you help him?" she asked. Gibbs looked over at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Where you take them, will they help him?" she clarified. Gibbs understood, and felt a sudden sorrow in his chest.

"They'll try," he said. He had no doubt that if the children spent any time in foster care, they'd be sent to counseling. Especially since they all suspected Yameen had at the very least been present during his sister's stoning. Mrs. Aziz held his gaze for a long moment before nodding.

"You think Father hurt Amy." Sadie broke the moment.

"Yes, I do," Gibbs said.

Sadie looked sideways at her mother, then took a deep breath. When she spoke, her words came out in a rush.

"I think Father hurt her too, and I think Yameen was there, and I don't think Yameen wanted to do it, but I think Father made him."

"Shut up!" Yameen said suddenly, turning on her. "You know nothing!" Sadie shrunk back in her chair. She reached for her doll and hugged it to herself.

"Yameen!" Mrs. Aziz barked. He spun toward her.

"You know what the Law says," he shouted. "You know it had to be that way."

"Hey," Gibbs said. The boy looked his way.

"And you," Yameen said before Gibbs could continue, "should have never stuck your nose into things you did not understand. This is not your business." Tears spilled from his angry eyes.

"Yameen!" Mrs. Aziz said again. He turned back to her.

"It was not his business," Yameen repeated. He swiped at his face with his sleeve.

"Amy's safety was and is my business," Gibbs said. "Just like it's my business to keep you and your mom and sister safe."

"Why?" Sadie piped up.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Gibbs said. "No one's allowed to hurt someone like that. Doesn't matter what their reason is."

"The Law is clear," Yameen said, his voice more subdued. He was almost pouting.

"The Law is wrong," Gibbs said simply.

"How can you say that about something you do not understand?"

"I don't need to understand your law to know it's wrong," Gibbs said. "Any law that says children must be killed for making mistakes has to be wrong."

Yameen frowned at him. His mouth opened, and shut, then opened again. "You do not understand."

Yameen picked up what was left of his burger and took a bite. After chewing for a moment, he spoke again.

"You should ask Father. He'll tell you why it had to be that way."

"I did ask him. He says he knows nothing about why Amy was hurt. He says he wasn't even there."

Yameen's eyes widened. "But that's..."

"A lie?" Gibbs supplied when he trailed off. "I know it is. So here's my question: If your Law is so good and right, why would your father lie about it?"

"Lying is bad," Sadie said.

"I think so," Gibbs agreed. "How 'bout you, Yameen? You think lying is bad?" When the boy said nothing, Gibbs continued. "What does your Law say about lying?"

"It is one of the greater sins," Yameen said quietly.

Gibbs let that sit. Yameen finished his burger and starting picking at the last of his fries.

"You cannot force me to say anything bad about Father," he said after a while.

"Actually I can," Gibbs said, making Yameen look up at him suddenly. "But I'm not going to," he continued. "You're a smart kid, Yameen, everyone says so. I know you'll do the right thing."

* * *

...to be continued...


End file.
